


A Fine Adventure

by Felgia_Starr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Banter, Drama, Dramione Remix, Explicit Language, F/M, Name-Calling, Non-Explicit Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Sexual Content, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Trauma, War, War Fic, Wench and Kingslayer, hand mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-02 17:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15801372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr
Summary: “War seems like a fine adventure, the greatest most of them will ever know. Then they get a taste of battle."- George R.R. Martin, A Feast For Crows.Molly Weasley is willing to do everything just to have her daughter back into her arms, even if that means freeing their most valuable prisoner.





	1. Mother

**Author's Note:**

> "Jaime and Brienne meet when Catelyn Stark places Jaime into Brienne's custody, she is to transport him to Kings Landing in exchange for the safe return of her daughters. Along the way they are captured, the men mean to rape Brienne, but Jaime convinces them that she is more valuable left unharmed. However, they cut off Jaime's hand because of his arrogance. Jaime is to be taken to his father and Brienne left at Harrenhall, but Jaime returns for her, finding Brienne trapped in a bear pit, Jaime rescues her. After Sansa escapes King's Landing Jaime sends Brienne to find and protect her. Jaime and Brienne develop a deep friendship, but often find themselves on opposing sides." - Fanlore's canon summary on my chosen couple.

Molly Weasley had simply had enough of war.  
  
War was ugly, dirty, and raw. It changed the good and kind people she’d once known into heartless and brutal monsters.  It had taken away her husband and two of her children. It had taken everything that had a semblance of good in her life. War was tiring. Seeing children younger than her own looking mentally exhausted was one of the worst things one could see. Children, who should remain pure, forced to fight in such a brutal fashion due to such dark times. It truly sickened her. Fighting Death Eaters on a daily basis had started to take a toll on her soul. She felt empty, dark, and numb. Maybe doing this would take back some of the light she’d once felt in her life.  
  
She set her brown eyes to gaze upon the drunken so-called warriors meant to defend the prison cells. They were fighting which was not an unusual sight these days. They were on the same side, but they still fought each other. Molly was ashamed of what they had become.  
  
“Malfoy won’t last the night here.” Molly turned her attention away from the fighting men and her gaze fell on a woman. As small as she was, she was a force to be reckoned with. She was a better and stronger warrior than the men guarding the cells, that much was certain. Molly nodded her head in agreement before the woman, Hermione, continued to speak. “The more they drink, the angrier they’ll get.”  
  
Hermione Granger was the one who captured Malfoy in the first place. She had caught him off guard in the Battle of Gringotts and had instantly Apparated him to Grimmauld Place. Thinking back to her plan, she knew Hermione Granger was the best person for this and Molly trusted her.  
  
The warriors who were supposed to guard Draco Malfoy, their most valuable prisoner, were now duelling over who could kill him.  It had started off as a physical brawl and now, they were taking out their wands and threatening to hex each other.  
  
“Just wait until one of them cast the Killing Curse,” said Hermione, “Besides, who wants to die defending a Malfoy, anyway?”  
  
Molly chose to ignore the question and proceeded to walk towards Malfoy’s cell, Hermione following behind her.  
  
As expected, no one was standing in front of Malfoy’s cell. The two guards were now circling each other by the prison door, paying no attention to the two women or the prisoner in the cell.  Draco Malfoy was left alone. No one was guarding him and no one was making sure that he would not escape.  
  
Hermione silently cancelled the wards around the cell. She had planted them there herself, of course. She had planted every ward in every prison they had. As talented as she was, wards could always be broken. She knew that Malfoy was not an idiot. There was a reason he was their most valuable prisoner. He was very well linked within the Death Eater circle and she had to make sure there was no chance of him getting out. These wards that she had erected were impenetrable and took a few moments for her to pull them down. Once she'd finished, Hermione made way for Molly to enter the cell first. Molly was thankful for her assistance, but she did not need Hermione to be there in the cell with her as she spoke to Malfoy.  
  
When Hermione attempted to step in after she was inside, Molly blocked her way with her arm and shook her head at the younger woman.  
  
“Make sure no one sees me in here,” she whispered.  
  
Hermione’s brown eyes flashed dangerously, but she followed the command anyway. It was good to know that her word still meant something to someone.  
  
She eased her way deeper into the dark prison cell, looking around for a flash of white blond hair. There was none. Hair did not glint where there was no light, after all.  Only a muddied, ragged, and sullied man sat before her, his entire body magically bound to a pole.  
  
Draco Malfoy had been allowed no pleasantries since Hermione had captured him. An ashen white blond beard covered his face, reminding her of the late Albus Dumbledore himself. His once pure platinum hair was now black at the roots because of being unwashed for a while. His expensive black robes were now torn and tattered. His pale face was only sullied by a few scratches and mud. Despite all of that, Draco Malfoy sat as proudly and smugly as ever.  His body was radiating waves of claimed superiority and wealth. Being jailed had not broken him, unfortunately.  
  
He squinted his eyes through the darkness, trying to see who his new visitor was. A smirk spread out on his face when he recognized her.  
  
“Mrs Weasley.” He nodded as a mock of respect. He was just another spoiled boy with no manners, Molly decided, just like his father. “You look radiant as always.”  
  
His sarcastic comments would not get to her. He would not get to her. She would not give him a taste of her temper.  
  
“Though, as radiant as you look, Mrs Weasley, I don’t think I could offer you anything right now,” the boy drawled. “I know that your bed must be lonely since losing your husband and that I may look like a fine substitute for him, but I feel like you might be far too old for my tastes.”  
  
Molly swiftly took a large rock from the ground when he mentioned the death of her love, Arthur. Every day, she still missed him. He had been killed by a poison-like curse by Malfoy’s uncle. Rodolphus Lestrange, a name she muttered every night as she prayed—a name she would like to perish.  
  
“But, I can offer something a little less personal and much more pleasurable for you.” Draco Malfoy’s smirk widened. “Just please, kindly take off your robes and sit—“  
  
Malfoy grunted as the brunt of the rock Molly was gripping hit his jaw harshly, causing it to bleed out.  
  
Draco sniffed before he spat out blood and spit on her shoes. “Nicely done.”  
  
Molly dropped the rock immediately.   
  
“Do you hear them out there?” Molly asked.  “They want you dead.”  
  
“Just like everybody else in the world.” He scoffed, shrugging his shoulders as if his death meant nothing to him.  
  
“Death will come knocking on your prison door if you continue to talk nonsense.”  
  
The Malfoy boy frowned at her and then laughed. “You think I’m afraid of dying?”  
  
“You should be,” Molly said vindictively. “You’re going to end up in the 9th circle of the Inferno if God answers my prayers.”  
  
“Prayers?” he repeated as if it was the first time he’d heard the word. “What did your prayers cause us, Mrs Weasley? What did your prayers cause you? Did they do what you wanted and end the war? Did your silly prayers bring back your husband? No. There are both good and bad things in the same world—"  
  
“Only because of men like you!”  
  
He let out an amused laugh at that.  
  
“There are no men like me. There’s only me.” His voice sounded so arrogant, so sure, and so full of himself that Molly almost punched him for it.  
  
“I did not come here to philosophize with you, Malfoy,” she told him. “I’m here with a chance for you.”  
  
“And here I thought that chances for me no longer existed.”

Ignoring him, her mind drifted to a single question, one that had been brewing inside her for years.  
  
“How did Albus Dumbledore die?” Molly asked him. She had to know. How could a boy kill the most powerful wizard in the world?  
  
He snorted. “I pointed my wand at him and spoke the most unforgivable of the Unforgivables.”  
  
Molly knew that if she had her wand right now, she would cut off his head with a simple Severing Charm.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I hoped it would kill him.”  
  
“Why?” Molly repeated with gritted teeth.  
  
“Because I was told to.”  
  
She shook her head in disgust. “You are the vilest of all men.”  
  
“ _We_ are the vilest of all men,” he corrected, “Wizards and witches and people who are so easily corrupted-”  
  
“Do not ever compare myself to you, Malfoy.”  
  
“I wonder what your husband would think of you now,” Draco continued, looking her in the eye stubbornly. “You’re as evil and corrupt as the rest of us. You and your Order think so good of yourselves to the point that you think you’re always right. When we do it, it’s wrong, but when you lot do the same, it’s the rightest of rights. How hypocritical of you, Mrs Weasley.”  
  
“Hermione!” Molly called out. She was sick of the boy talking.  
  
“Yes, yes, and Granger, too.” Malfoy nodded, blood dripping down his neck from his jaw. “She’s the worst of you all. Mudbloods. They think they have the same rights as us when they know nothing about what we are. Yet they still come into our world like they deserve magic-”

A voice cut him off mid-tirade.  
  
“You called, Mrs Weasley?” Hermione cheerily asked after she stepped into the cell.  
  
“Give me your wand, please.” Molly held out her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sending all my love to my Beta, beautifuldreamer_x! You are a gift from God! Thank you so much!


	2. Death Eater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe this chapter's coherency to my Beta, beautifuldreamer_x! Thank you!

_I’m alive.  
  
_ Draco’s eyes hurt from the sun rays that pierced through them. The wind shifted through his robes, making him shiver slightly. The sound of chirping birds, dancing leaves, and animals fucking filled his ears. It would irritate him if he wasn’t so bloody glad that he was free and alive. He was fucking alive. From all the things he’d imagined when he got captured, being alive hadn’t been one of them.  
  
He glared at the sun once more and let out a loud laugh.  
  
“Shut up,” the Mudblood grumbled beside him, reminding him that he was still some sort of captive of hers. Granger looked different from the last time he’d seen her. Her frame was thinner, her hair untameable, and her attitude worsened. She looked dirtier somehow, like the kind of girl he’d expected a Mudblood to look like.  
  
Draco decided that he much preferred her Hogwarts self. She usually ignored him and looked decent back then. He could stand to stare at her face for a long time back then.  
  
She had chained his wrists and ankles with iron manacles, wrapped a long heavy chain around him so she could drag him along like a damn dog, and added a magical bind on him just to be extra sure. Draco hadn’t understood the need for them—he’d already done an Unbreakable Vow. What could he possibly do without breaking it?  
  
Their escape from wherever he was kept had been strangely smooth and unbothered. An owner of some cabin they’d passed through questioned the Mudblood, but she had taken care of it easily. Draco did not know exactly where they were currently, but he knew that she was taking him to Hogwarts and that the forest they were in did not allow Apparition. Molly Weasley had apparently made new terms with his mother and now, he was going home. And no one was supposed to know that he was going home, of course. What Molly Weasley had done was basically a betrayal to her cause. In Draco’s opinion, the decision to let him go was a dumb one—he was the only hostage they had that mattered. His imprisonment held back a lot of Death Eater attacks, mostly because of his father’s influence. And he believed that he was worth much more than Ginny Weasley, the prisoner they were exchanging him for.  
  
Draco briefly wondered if this was a part of a master plan from the Neutrals. The Neutrals’ numbers were growing each day and all of them were sick of both the Light and the Dark. He wondered if they were finally doing something to attempt to stop the war. Weakening both sides by making them release valuable prisoners and speeding up the war sounded too carefully planned in his ears.  
  
“Granger.” He decided that mocking the Mudblood was the best entertainment he could get in his situation. “It’s been such a long time since we’d last seen each other. You know, I almost didn’t recognize you, but then I saw that atrocious hair, and I immediately knew it was the Brightest Witch of Her Age.”  
  
The Mudblood scowled but did not respond, only pulling his chain harshly to make him start walking again.  
  
“So, enlighten me, Mudblood,” he said, faking interest and delight, “how have you liked the war so far?”  
  
“Mudblood’s not my name.” The woman snarled back at him. “It’s Hermione.”  
  
“Oh, I apologize.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Has the war been alright for you, Hermione?”  
  
“The war is not alright for anyone.”  
  
He raised a blond brow. “So you wish to flee?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then why are you still here?”  
  
“I swore to Mrs Weasley that I would bring you to Hogwarts,” she blandly answered, still dragging him around.  
  
“And why did you swear to Mrs Weasley?” he mocked, a sneer forming on his face.  
  
“Because she wants her daughter back.”  
  
Draco narrowly avoided the deep hole of mud he almost sunk his boot into.  
  
“I don’t remember you being this boring, Granger,” he drawled. “You were much more fun to talk to back in Hogwarts.”  
  
He heard her hiss, and she stopped to turn around and glare at him. Draco could not refrain from smirking as he looked at Granger’s enraged face. He loved that he could rile her up so easily.  
  
“You will not provoke me to anger,” she snarled, taking a step toward him with every word.  
  
He snorted. “I already have. Look at you! You’re ready to cast the Killing Curse on me.”  
  
The Mudblood began walking again, forcing him to walk behind her as well. Draco realized that they were on a riverbank. He had never seen a river so calm before.  
  
_What an ugly place.  
  
_ She spotted a boat a few feet from them, and started getting it ready for a ride.  
  
“You think you could?” Draco continued regardless. “You think you could beat me in a fair duel?”  
  
“I’ve never seen you duel properly,” she spat.  
  
“The answer is ‘no,’” he proudly answered for her. “There are four people who might have a chance against me, and you are not one of them.”  
  
Granger paused in setting the small boat up, glancing at him. “I think you’ve forgotten that I captured you easily and without a fight, Malfoy.”  
  
She fixed her posture and stood up properly. “All my life, people like you have underestimated me and all my life, I’ve been proving people like you wrong.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re so confident, Granger. You weren’t the one I was fighting when you captured me. Get rid of my chains, and let’s see what happens.”  
  
The Mudblood scoffed. “Do you take me for an idiot?”  
  
He had a feeling that he was not supposed to answer that, but he nodded as a reply anyway.  
  
“Come on.” She waved for him to hop on the boat.  
  
Draco stepped in and proceeded to lean against the wood comfortably. “I took you for a fair fighter.”

She simply stared back at him so he continued.  
  
“A man—pardon me—a woman of honour,” he proceeded, trying his best to make mocking gestures with his bound hands. “Was I wrong?”  
  
Granger basically jumped in the boat, making Draco pause as the wooden dinghy shook. The Mudblood took the oar from beside her.  
  
“You’re afraid,” he muttered, staring straight into her exhausted-looking brown eyes. He suddenly felt exhausted himself. They’d been walking for a long damn time, after all. His legs were pulsing painfully and his feet were burning in fatigue.  
  
Granger pushed the boat away from the land and further in the water.  
  
“Maybe one day we’ll find out, Malfoy.”  
  
Draco’s eyes shut at her words, the sound of the oar going in and out of the water lulling him to sleep.

**. . .**

  
He woke up when the Mudblood pulled the chain around him painfully, making him release a grunt as he felt the metal poke into his skin through his robes. The gentle rocking had ceased and he realized that the boat had now stopped.  
  
“You’re such a violent woman,” he commented, slowly opening his eyes. He first saw Granger’s gaunt face frowning down on him, the ends of her frizzy hair brushing against his face.   
  
“We have to start walking again,” she told him as sternly as usual.  
  
Draco heavily sighed and made a move to stand up, but Granger moved faster and she quickly pulled him up with the chains. He groaned in pain. The harsh and swift movement washed away all drowsiness that had been left over from his sleep.  
  
“Violent,” he repeated as he stepped out of the boat.  
  
She ignored him and started to walk away after he managed to stand up on his own.  
  
Draco caught up instantly.  
  
“No man likes a violent woman, you know,” he drawled.  
  
He heard her snort. “I don’t care about what men think.”  
  
“So you’re a virgin?”  
  
She stiffened, obviously riled up again. “What does that have to do with anything?”  
  
“I don’t really know,” he admitted. “The question just popped into my head.”  
  
Both of them didn’t speak for a while after that. She just commanded him to walk in front of her instead of behind because she thought he might try to escape.  
  
“Are you?” he continued to ask when she did not respond.  
  
“Fuck off, Malfoy, and shut up while you’re at it.”  
  
Draco laughed. “No one ever tried to deflower the pretty and bashful Hermione Granger? Surely, Weasley or Potter, at some point, tried to snog and get on top of you?”  
  
“Many tried,” she confirmed. “Many got hexed.”  
  
He couldn’t help but chuckle once again.  
  
“You want me to try, Granger?” he asked her, pausing in his tracks.  
  
“Not interested.”  
  
“Of course you are.” He scoffed. “Wouldn’t you want to finally know what it feels like to be a woman and have a man inside you?”  
  
He chanced a glance at her. She was staring off into the distance, probably determining their path. And when she got too close, she stopped behind him. She looked pretty enough, he supposed. He knew that she could fix up her style and look gorgeous like she did on the Yule Ball. She could probably be as beautiful as his mother if she really tried.  
  
He realized he’d been staring too long when Granger herself noticed and frowned at him. He turned his gaze instead to see what she had been examining earlier.  
  
Draco grimaced instantly when he saw three naked women lynched, their faces horribly burnt and fucked up. The phrase ‘Death Eaters’ whores’ was carved into their torsos, fresh and still dripping with blood. He looked away after he tasted vomit crawling up his throat.  
  
_I fucking hate corpses._ Tortured corpses, mostly, but dead bodies all the same. The sight was revolting, the smell even more so. That was why he preferred a clean death whenever he had to kill somebody.  
  
“Are you feeling bad, Granger?” he sceptically asked when he caught a glimpse of sadness on her face. “Thinking about if that was your body hanging on that tree?”  
  
“Please shut up.”  
  
“I can’t believe the Order have done this,” taunted Draco. “I’d thought they were good, polite, and honourable people. I never would’ve guessed that they kill wives and daughters of Death Eaters by lynching. Not so honourable now, huh?”  
  
“No one is honourable anymore, Malfoy,” Granger murmured, “We’re all monsters here.”  
  
Draco scrutinized her mien once again. Did the Mudblood really just agree with what he had thought? He had honestly expected her to be self-righteous and holier-than-thou as always. He supposed war did change everyone. He felt bad for judging her. Maybe she had some of her dark secrets, too. Maybe she was haunted by past mistakes like him. Maybe she was just as human as he was.  
  
Draco suddenly felt arms around his body and before he knew it, Granger had bound him to a tree.  
  
“What are you doing?” he queried when she’d finished restraining him and was now stalking closer to the hanging corpses.  
  
“Burying them,” she answered.  
  
Annoyance crept in on him.  
  
“We shouldn’t stay here, Granger,” he warned. “What if—“  
  
“I don’t care what you think,” she interrupted.  
  
He heard loud laughter and chattering coming near them. Draco glared at her.  
  
“Untie me,” he immediately commanded. “Now.”  
  
But she couldn’t. The people they’d heard were now a few feet from the corpses and they had noticed them.  
  
He closed his eyes, hoping they wouldn’t recognize his blond hair or Granger’s own bushy curls.  
  
“Oi,” one of them called out. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Draco, with eyes now opened, studied their appearances. There were three of them, all men wearing Death Eater robes. They must be newly-recruited, low-ranked Death Eaters for he couldn’t recognize them.  
  
“Travelling with a prisoner.” Granger dutifully answered.  
  
The one in the middle looked sceptical and narrowed his eyes at both of them.  
  
“We’ll be going now.” The Mudblood turned to him and started getting rid of his restraints.  
  
“Wait,” the one on the left spoke up. “Which side do you fight for?”  
  
“The Dark Lord,” Hermione smartly responded, still attempting to remove his binds. It was good that she hadn’t called him ‘Voldemort’. No supporter of the Dark Lord was allowed to say his name. They were simply not worthy enough to do so. Even though the Dark Lord was now dead, every Death Eater still thought he was a God—Draco excluded.  
  
“What did he do?” the one on the right pointed at Draco.  
  
“Apparently, eating is now a crime,” Draco answered for himself, lowering his voice.  
  
“No.” Granger shook her head. “Stealing money so you can eat is a crime.”  
  
“And I’m just going to starve?” He scoffed. “What a nice form of justice.”  
  
“Where are you taking him?” one of the men continued to question.  
  
Draco was truly getting irritated. Why couldn’t they just leave and let them be?  
  
“Malfoy Manor,” Granger also continued to answer, finally loosening the chains around him.  
  
He winced at her response. That was not where they took prisoners, not anymore, at least.  
  
“Why Malfoy Manor?”  
  
“He’s stolen from the Malfoys,” Granger lied.  
  
“Why not kill him?”  
  
“For a pouch of Sickles?” Draco sneered at the three men.  
  
The one in the middle carefully looked at him. The man’s eyes widened as he finally realized who he was. Draco cursed himself for making the mistake of allowing him to see his face and turned away.  
  
“Th-that’s Draco Malfoy!” one of them exclaimed. “The son of Lucius Malfoy, the richest man in Britain!”  
  
Footsteps neared where he was currently standing. He felt a hand grip his hair and throw his head back. Draco peered into the yellowish eyes of one ugly old man.  
  
“Bloody hell,” the man breathed into his face, his breath as foul as the corpses. “He’s got grey eyes! He’s Malfoy’s son, alright!”  
  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Draco heard Granger mutter.  
  
“ _Confringo!_ ” one of them shouted. The Mudblood expertly dodged the spell and wordlessly shot a single hex of her own.  
  
Draco watched in fascination as she easily defeated the three men one by one, with a magical shield surrounding her body. She first took their wands with the Summoning Charm, and then she levitated them up in the air before she lit the bodies on fire, killing them slowly.  
  
“Impressive,” he commented after she let the bodies down and silenced their screams as they die a painful death. “I never thought you had it in you.”  
  
Granger shrugged, putting her wand back into its holster. Draco noted that his wand was there as well, in a different holster, next to hers.  
  
“Three fewer Death Eaters in the world,” she simply said, watching emotionlessly as the three men died in front of them.  
  
“Why burn them?” he questioned.  
  
She shrugged again. “They deserved it.”  
  
Draco was quite familiar with those words. Those words were the same words he would tell himself after killing somebody. Those words were the exact words he would whisper to comfort himself after having a nightmare about the people he’d killed. Saying those words were the closest thing to praying he would ever do.  
  
_They deserved it._  
  
He gazed upon the dying men. They were screaming but no sound escaped their lips. Their skins were frying off. Who were they to decide who deserved what, anyway? What right did they have to say that other people deserved certain things?  
  
Draco shook his head, trying to get the thoughts out of his head.  
  
He smirked at Granger instead. “Now, you’ve got six people to bury.”  
  
Realization dawned on her face and she cursed under her breath, “Fuck.”

**. . .**

  
“Do you know how long it will take us to get to Hogwarts through fields and forests?” Draco asked while crawling through prickly shrubs and dirt.  
  
“Yes,” Granger answered as she followed him. Of course, she knew, she was the Brightest Witch of Her Age – Hermione Granger knew everything.  
  
“So how should we pass the time?”  
  
“By putting one foot in front of the other.”  
  
Draco hummed in disapproval. “Dull. Next suggestion?”  
  
Granger huffed. “I’m here to take you to Hogwarts and bring back Ginny in exchange. Dull is fine.”  
  
“I didn’t ask for your bloody mission, Granger,” he pointed out. “So what do you want to do?”  
  
“Take you to Hogwarts.”  
  
Draco groaned. “You’re so impeccably tedious, do you know that? I have a better chance of having an intellectual conversation with a tree than with you. All you talk about is getting me to Hogwarts and taking the Weasley daughter back.”  
  
“That’s what I always talk about because it’s the only thing that matters to me at this very moment.”  
  
“I enjoyed our petty arguments back in school better.”  
  
“I don’t care,” Granger said. “School days are over.”  
  
That ignited another question in Draco’s mind.  
  
“Did you get to finish school?”  
  
“No,” she answered, more harsh than usual.  
  
He chuckled. “Me neither. All that hard work for six years for nothing! I wish I could’ve known.”  
  
“I don’t think paying Professors for better marks counts as hard work, Malfoy.”  
  
“Shut up. I was good and you know it.”  
  
This time, it was Granger who let out a small laugh, the first he’d ever heard from her.  
  
_Ah, the Mudblood does have a heart after all.  
  
_

**. . .  
  
**

“Why did you agree to Molly Weasley’s wise plan of letting me go?” Draco inquired once more, sighing in relief as his piss flowed out of his body and towards the base of a tree. “That’s something we could talk about.”  
  
Granger had refused to let him go alone, the pervert she was, and was currently standing a few feet beside him, watching his every move. What a weirdo. Draco amused himself by imagining Granger on her knees in front of him, sucking his cock. He wondered if that thought made him a blood traitor.  
  
“Not your concern, Malfoy.” The Mudblood did not look anywhere near his crotch, choosing instead to glare at his face as if it was his fault that he needed to piss.  
  
“It seems very uncharacteristically dumb of you, great Hermione Granger, to let your side’s most valuable prisoner go.”  
  
“You don’t know me.”  
  
Draco turned to look at her as he put his cock back into his trousers, wiping his hands on his robes.  
  
“I do know you,” he insisted. “You’re the Brightest Witch of Her Age. You’ve never made a mistake in your whole life. Everyone admires you. You’re the woman every girl wants to be and every boy wants to be with. You’re Hermione fucking Granger, the exception to the ‘nothing is perfect’ rule. You’re good and perfect.”  
  
He hadn’t noticed that his tone took a mocking and dark turn toward the end of his speech. Granger noticed though, and she looked murderous. Her cheeks were red, her eyes were narrowed, and her mouth was curled up in anger.  
  
She stomped until she was right in front of him. She raised her hand in the air and promptly punched him straight in the nose.  
  
Draco’s eyes flashed and he saw a memory—the memory of the first time Granger had broken his nose. He had been a boy back then. He had been afraid of Granger back then. He was not a boy now and he was not scared of her anymore.  
  
“Your taunts about my blood, I can take,” she hissed furiously, her hair looking like a lion’s mane around her face. “Your arrogant boasts about how you’re supposedly better than me, I can manage, but I will not tolerate you claiming that you know who I am! I won’t stand for your comments about how perfect my life is because it’s not! I’m not fucking perfect, Malfoy! You know nothing about me!”  
  
His hand went to his cracked nose instinctively. He didn’t understand why she was so mad. It was just typical sarcasm for him. It was just like everything he’d said before.  
  
He wanted to throw a tantrum just like she had, but he decided to be the better man for he knew that she only wanted to take him to Hogwarts, nothing more.  
  
“If I offended you, I’m sorry, Granger,” he apologized through clenched teeth, sounding strange because of his broken nose.  
  
She scoffed the apology off, turning around and starting to walk again.  
  
“At least have the decency to fix my broken nose!” he called out, wincing as he accidentally brushed his fingers against his nose.

**. . .**

  
“It’s literally just three syllables,” Draco persisted.  “ _Episkey_. That’s all it takes to heal my nose.”  
  
“How about I Silence you instead?”  
  
“I thought you were kinder than this.”  
  
“That’s just it, Malfoy,” she said. “You think and assume things about me that aren’t true.”  
  
“I said I was sorry!”  he exclaimed. “And remember what you swore to Mrs Weasley. You said that you would take me Hogwarts in one piece.”  
  
An exaggerated sigh came out of her lips and then he felt his nose painfully being fixed.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
After a while, Granger spoke in the most venomous tone he’d ever heard from her. “I believe that you’re one of the worst people I’ve ever met, Malfoy.”  
  
Draco blanched. “For saying thank you?”  
  
“For being a murderer,” she started, “for being a Death Eater, for being a blood purist, and for introducing me to the word ‘Mudblood’. I hate you so much.”

She sounded hateful and close to tears at the same time.  Draco hated her as well. She had bested him in every subject in Hogwarts. His best work had been her worst. Everyone had believed that she was smarter than him and better than him, in general. He hated her for making him question the ideals his father had bestowed upon him. He hated her for making him feel so useless and belittled at school. He hated her now because she was throwing accusations against him. He hated her now because she thought she knew him, but -  
  
“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?” Granger interjected his thoughts. “Being judged and stereotyped?”  
  
He hadn’t noticed that he stopped walking and that Granger was now in front of him, smirking in satisfaction.  
  
Draco opened his mouth, but he didn’t have anything to say. He clamped his lips shut when he couldn’t think of the right words and glared at her smug face instead.  
  
_Fucking Mudblood bitch.  
  
_ Contrary to popular belief, Draco knew that Muggle-borns did not have dirty blood. It was stupid to think of it that way. Only daft and simple people believed that another person could have muddy blood. He’d seen many Muggle-borns and Muggles get tortured and killed. He’d seen that their blood was as red as his. He just used the word ‘Mudblood’ to make people like Granger feel useless.  He had knowledge of her great skills in magic, of course, but people like her didn’t deserve to be perfect. He’d spent all of his life knowing magic yet Granger came along and became better at it than him. He knew that Muggle-borns could be better than most pure-bloods as most pure-bloods were half-witted and inbred anyway, but Draco felt like they did not deserve to be so good at magic so he did his part by making them feel dirty, insecure, and useless.  
  
Not that Granger had to know that. Granger was the most pretentious Mudblood he’d ever met, and there were times when she would make him feel like he was good for nothing.  
  
_Fuck Hermione Granger.  
  
_ He was about to tell her that exact same phrase, but a gravelly old voice beat him to it.  
  
“Where are you two off to?”  
  
Draco looked up and saw an old short man with a greying beard and no hair on his head.  The man was wearing Muggle clothes, ugly and torn. He did not trust this man at all.  
  
“Just a cabin not far from here,” he lied. “You?”  
  
“Scotland,” the man answered with a deceitful smile. He knew that he was lying immediately and if they did not kill him now, there would be awful consequences later. “’Tis' a very nice forest, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes,” Granger spoke up, nodding. “It is a beautiful forest.”  
  
Draco almost snorted. This forest was the ugliest one he’d ever seen in his life, full of mud and dead trees. This forest was not a spot for tourists at all.  
  
“Well, be safe!” the man said with a salute. “There are many lingerers around here, killers and thieves alike.”

Granger said farewell, and then the man wandered off, but not without taking a second glance at Draco.  
  
“He knows who I am,” he whispered into the Mudblood’s ear.  
  
She stiffened at the feel of his breath on her skin. “He doesn’t.”  
  
“Maybe you’re right and maybe you’re not,” Draco pointed out. “What if he tells someone?”  
  
An ugly pause took over them before he spoke again.  
  
“Just kill him.”  
  
Granger scoffed, elbowing his stomach. “I’m not doing it. He’s an innocent man.”  
  
“There is no such thing as an innocent man in this war.”  
  
He saw hesitation on her expression for a short moment before it went away. Granger rolled his eyes at him. They began travelling again.

**. . .**

  
“You know, you should have brewed Polyjuice before we escaped from… that hellhole,” he told her after they’d stopped on a riverside once more, this time staring at a bridge, wondering if they should cross or not.  
  
He noted that the water here was much wilder here than the one before.  
  
“It’s a tough decision. Take the bridge and risk being seen or cross the—“  
  
“Shut up,” the Mudblood practically growled.  
  
_Lioness._ _Living up to her reputation as a Gryffindor.  
  
_ He shrugged. “Anyone can see us in the bridge, but cross the water and the current could drift us down the river and towards the open ocean. Difficult decisions… maybe we could swim?”  
  
“Good luck." She snorted so hard that he was sure a few of her brain cells disappeared with it.  
  
“What would Hermione Granger do?”  he taunted. “The strategist of the Order, the key to their defeat, and the greatest witch to have ever graced the Wizarding World.”  
  
“I have half a mind to just leave you here.”  
  
“Do it,” he urged. “What would you say to Molly Weasley if you returned without her daughter in your clutches?”  
  
They ended up taking the bridge.  Draco couldn’t blame her, he supposed, walking across the bridge would be much easier than crossing the river. She cast the Disillusionment Charm on both of them before they went to the arched bridge. Smart woman.  
  
“Such a typical reckless Gryffindor you are, Granger,” he remarked as they walked. “I’d never thought of you as a typical woman.”  
  
“I’m not,” she claimed. “And walk faster!”  
  
He sat down on the slippery floor of the bridge instead, grinning at her paranoid expression.  
  
“Get up!” she commanded.  
  
“My legs are rather tired,” he said, trying his best to reach for them despite his bound hands. “Aren’t your feet swollen, Granger? Come on, take a rest, just for one minute.”  
  
“Get up now!” the lioness was roaring now, probably scaring off most of the animals in the bloody forest.  
  
He nodded. “I will as soon as the energy goes back to my legs.”  
  
“Buggering hell, Malfoy, get up!” she (too) loudly exclaimed as she put her hands on his shoulders and forcing him to stand up.  
  
“I mean, look at my shoes—they’re worn and tattered and useless, no one would—“ As soon as Draco got close enough, he gripped his Hawthorn wand from her holster and pulled as far away as he could from her.  
  
He sliced off the non-magical chains around his person with a spell and smirked at Granger as she took hold of her own wand.  
  
He noticed that the Disillusionment Charm was gone now as Granger had lost focus on the spell.  
  
He twirled his wand smugly. “You should’ve snapped my wand in two when you captured me in Gringotts.”  
  
The fizzling feel of magic coursed through his veins as he held his weapon in his wand hand. He hadn’t held a wand in months? Weeks? The last time had definitely been at the Battle of Gringotts.  
  
“ _Expelliarmus!”_  Granger shouted, the Disarming spell coming out of her wand. _  
_  
Draco laughed as he silently procured a shield around him, making the spell bounce off.  
  
“Who do you think you are? Potter?”  he mocked. “ _Confringo!”_  
  
Granger jumped aside and the spell hit the side of the bridge, causing it to burst into flames and explode.  
  
“ _Sectumsempra!_ ” she countered. “ _Defodio! Everte Statum! Expelliarmus!_ ”  
  
“Wow, you’re really trying to be Potter, huh?” He had no intention of becoming slashed again by the Sectumsepra Curse so Draco narrowly dodged every spell she’d thrown at him. “You’re faster than him, you know, Potter I mean.”  
   
“ _Crucio!_ ” Draco shouted, still avoiding Granger’s non-stop hexes. “ _Expulso!_ ”  
  
He saw the Cruciatus Curse hit Granger’s left arm. She hissed in pain.    
  
“ _Fianto Duri,_ ” he murmured, strengthening the shield he’d once again procured. “You do realize that if you kill me, you’ll fail Mrs Weasley. But then again, if you don’t kill me, I’m going to kill you.”  
  
He heard Granger groan in frustration. He smirked at her once again, waving at her with his left and unused hand.  
  
“ _Finite Incantatem!_ ” she roared, ridding him of his shield. Draco shot a Jelly-Legs Curse and another _Crucio_ her way and built up the shield once she fell to her knees and screamed in pain.  
  
“Just say you want to end this, Granger, and I’ll—“  
  
Draco thought that it was over, but she pointed her wand at him and spoke, “ _Finite._ _Petrificus Totalus.”  
  
_ He froze up and fell to the ground with a loud sound. She removed it after she’d tied him up more securely than before and out-of-reach from his wand.  
  
“I beat you,” Granger stated confidently.  
  
“I was still restrained, if you recall,” he pointed out sourly. He admitted that he was bitter about the whole situation. “I lacked my usual finesse because of your binds.”  
  
She laughed in his face. Draco frowned.  
  
_Get rid of the chains and let’s see who’ll win in a fair duel, Mudblood._  
  
He was about to give her his worst, but he heard multiple heavy footsteps coming their way. Granger held out her wand immediately. Draco felt his heart thrumming in his ears as he glanced in the direction of where the footsteps came from.  
  
They faced an army.  
  
“Looks like your woman’s getting the better of you.” The man in front chuckled.  
  
Draco forced a smirk and managed to look unafraid. “We all enjoy a good fight once in a while.”  
  
He narrowed his eyes to clearly see the Neutral badges proudly glinting on their chests. “Ah, the mark of the Neutrals. A bit too show-offy for my tastes.”  
  
“Are you sure he’s the one?” the man in front ignored him and turned to another person.  
  
Draco glanced at Granger and cussed at her when the bald old man they’d encountered earlier was seen.  
  
“That’s him alright,” the old man confirmed. “I saw that shade of silver hair on both his mother and father when he was younger.”  
  
“Give the man five Galleons,” a man that Draco assumed was the leader commanded before the bald man was ushered off somewhere in hell, he hoped.  
  
“Let us go,” he drawled. “My father will pay you whatever you want.”  
  
The leader guffawed. “Enough to buy me a head with silver hair and silver eyes?”  
  
“The Minister would be more than happy to receive Draco Malfoy at his door,” he continued. “He’s got quite a hatred for Death Eaters. If we bring the Malfoy heir to him, we’ll be richer than all of the pure-blood families combined.”  
  
He could do nothing but curse himself and Granger as they surrounded and completely outnumbered them. Together, they could probably fight ten but not more—definitely not fifty like the number of people that were going to take them right then.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Mudblood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This is the first multi-chaptered fic I've finished! I think I couldn't have done it without my Beta, beautifuldreamer_x! Aaaand that I can only work when there's a deadline.

Hermione attempted to connect with the magic in her veins to rid herself of the binds they had put on her and failed for the thirteenth time. Yes, she had been counting. She was tired and had been pushing herself for a while. She couldn't understand why this was happening. She thought for sure the odds would be favourable. But she could not succeed today, the one day she needed it most.  
  
She had done wandless magic before with simple and essentially useless spells so she didn’t understand why she couldn’t do it now. She couldn't help but think that maybe it was because of her fight with Malfoy earlier, that maybe her magic was drained and exhausted. Maybe it was because of the _awful_ singing voice that distracted her from properly connecting with her inner magic.  
  
She shot an irritated glare at the back of the singing man.  
  
Her hands were chained behind her as a girl who, she was sure, was younger than her walked at her side, watching her every step. The girl also had her wand out and pointed at Hermione. Even though she was at a disadvantage, Hermione was not afraid of this child. She knew she could easily kick her in the stomach and disarm her without even breaking a sweat. Despite knowing this, she wouldn’t try it because she was surrounded by the girl’s allies. She knew she would have to wait until the majority of them were asleep before she made a move to escape.  
  
But what if her chance never came? What if they died? What if she failed her word to Molly Weasley just because of some Neutral band of criminals?  
  
Hermione sighed, feeling apprehensive. This was entirely Malfoy’s fault. If he hadn’t started a fight, they wouldn’t have been seen so easily. Then again, he predicted that the old man was untrustworthy so maybe she should have listened to him that one time. She should’ve killed that man. Not for the first time in her life, Hermione cursed her empathetic nature.  
  
She had never killed someone who didn’t deserve it and she had thought that the old man had been innocent. How had she been proved wrong and by Malfoy of all people? She only resorted to murder if a person truly wanted to kill her and she had no reason to think he would have harmed her in any way. Looking back, it was a stupid decision and she was regretting it immensely.  
  
Sixty-three. That was the number of the people she had killed. Well, now it was sixty-six people after she had burned those lowly Death Eaters. Their pained faces as they were burnt to death, engulfed completely by flames flashed in Hermione’s head. She hadn’t felt bad then and she didn’t feel bad now. She was sure that those men had done worse things in their lives. They were Death Eaters after all and Death Eaters were cruel, warped, and evil. They were unashamed and brass. They did nothing but taunt and torture. They thought they were better than everyone. They believed that the world owed them just because they existed.  
  
She remembered the feeling of hope and relief when Voldemort had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. She had foolishly believed that they had won. They could never be that lucky, she knew that now. Everything had gone wrong when a Death Eater shot a deadly curse at Harry and killed him. She remembered being panicked and afraid when Voldemort’s supporters started Disapparating. She had been frozen in shock and she hadn’t moved. She hadn’t done anything good. She had just stood there with wide eyes and trembling hands. To this day, she blamed herself for Harry’s death. She could’ve saved him. She _should’ve_ saved him.  
  
She missed Harry a lot—and Ron. Even though she knew it was stupid and useless, she still prayed for their peace every night. At least they hadn’t turned into a murderous monster like she had—like everyone had.  
  
She bowed her head and released a sigh. She shouldn’t be thinking of them right now. She should be thinking of a way to get out of the chains around her body.  
  
“You know, Granger.” Hermione rolled her eyes as Malfoy started another asinine conversation with her. “I think we could’ve actually defeated them if I was holding my wand back there.”  
  
She gave him an annoyed glance. Malfoy was standing right behind her with two men at both his sides.  
  
“You know what I think?”  she sarcastically asked in a singsong tone. “I think that you really just want to talk to me because _I know_ that you know you’re not stupid and that _we_ couldn’t have taken down an army of 50 even if we were Grindelwald and Voldemort.”  
  
She turned her gaze back to the front. Draco laughed.  
  
“I don’t know about that, Granger,” he said. “Those two people you’ve mentioned were quite powerful.”  
  
“Yes,” she hissed. “But we’re not powerful, are we?”  
  
“Actually, I’m one of the best duellers of my time,” he boasted.  
  
“That must mean I’m better than you because I’ve beaten you twice now,” she pointed out. “You’re alright though. You’re just a bit slow and you talk too much.”  
  
Malfoy let out a guffaw. One of the men beside him angrily shushed him.  
  
“You’re not better than me, Granger,” he drawled, slowly dragging the words out of his mouth. It was the most exasperating sounds she’d heard from him. “I was in chains still, I told you that. And I was getting used to my wand as I have not held it since I was imprisoned.”  
  
Hermione snorted. “And I’m a Mudblood, remember? You told me that my kind was weak, but I still managed to beat you.”  
  
“You didn’t beat me—“  
  
“Just accept the fact that you’re not as good as you think, Malfoy. Skills don’t include proudly talking about them.”  
  
“Silence, both of you!” the girl, whose wand was pointed at her, snarled.  
  
They did not talk to each other after that. Hermione continued attempting wandless magic while Malfoy began whistling the same song that one man was singing earlier.

 **. . .**  


Hermione did not like being restrained. She hated it, in fact. The chain bruised her skin, its sharp edges left small cuts and the way it was bound to her body almost made her forget how to breathe. In the past, she used to get panic attacks every time she was chained and tied. She had just learned to breathe through her nose and calm herself. That did not mean she was unafraid at this very moment, though.  
  
She was scared—afraid of the dark, of the howling wolves in the distance, of Draco’s awful jaunts, of the men leering at her like she was some sort of a decadent meal and of the impending doom that was to come upon her. She was the bravest person she knew, but she was still frightened at this moment.  
  
She didn’t like the way Malfoy was laughing at her fate. The matter was not funny at all. How could he laugh in such a situation? How could a person be so heartless and laugh at another’s terrible fate? Draco Malfoy was one of the worst people she had ever met.  
  
“Come now, bint,” the leader, whose name she still did not know, commanded her. Men, so _many_ different men, grabbed her body. They touched her everywhere. She suddenly craved space.  
  
“We’ll take the girl first.” One of the men smirked. “Then after, maybe we’ll have a turn with you, Malfoy.”  
  
She swallowed, refusing to cry even though her eyes were tearing up, even though her throat was starting to close in on her, and even though her fingers were numbing and shaking. “Sirs, I am Hermione Granger from the Order. I am to escort Draco Malfoy to—"  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Mudblood bitch.”  
  
One of them spat at her. The saliva mixed with phlegm coated her mouth. She was disgusted. She could not take this again.  
  
Hermione panicked. She twisted her body around, trying to get their revolting hands off of her. She tried to kick their shins and one of them busted her lip open because of it.  
  
She could not do take this again.  
  
_Not again, not again, not again, not again._  
  
She shut her eyes when they kicked her to the ground, her face now full of mud. She saw different faces when her eyes were closed. Five faces. Five ugly faces. Three of which were people she was supposed to count on. Two were Death Eaters, the enemy. They had hurt her. She could feel their bodies pressing against hers again. She thought that that was something she had already forgotten but it all came back. Everything flashed in her mind again, every moment of pain and unwanted pleasure.  
  
She felt hands grasping her thighs.  
  
_No, no, no, no! NO! NO! Not again._  
  
Her lungs were tightening. She needed to breathe or else she would die. She needed air. Inhale. Exhale. Exhale. Inhale. She was going to die. Today would be her last. She was never going to see, hear, and feel anything again.  
  
One man slapped her buttocks and then suddenly, there were no more hands on her. She was still breathing unevenly. Little dots of different colours began to appear everywhere and everything else was blurry.  
  
Her ears were pierced by a scream of pain. It sounded like Malfoy’s voice. She _knew_ it was Malfoy.  
  
What had happened to him?

 **. . .**  


When Hermione recovered from her panicked state, she soon learned that they snapped Malfoy’s wand in half. They also chopped his hand off and made him adorn the dead limb like a necklace around his neck.  
  
Why would they do that?  
  
She stared at Malfoy in wonder. Eyes wide and face pale, he looked similar to that of a little boy who lost his mother in the market. He was slouched into a pitiful posture—quite unusual for him who always wanted to be pretty and perfect. He gazed upon his dirty boots, his mind obviously somewhere else. Hermione knew that if they weren’t pushing and pulling him along, he would’ve collapsed into the puddle of mud face-first.  
  
He did eventually. He _did_ fall when they pulled his chain a little too hard. He shakily tried to push himself off the ground but failed because of the fact he only had one hand.  
  
Malfoy’s lady guard laughed and stomped on his back, causing him to let out a muffled groan. The leader approached Draco. He jokingly ran his fingers through Malfoy’s now dirty blond hair and gripped it tightly. He kneeled in front of Malfoy and forced him to look up at him.  
  
Malfoy foolishly took the wand from the leader’s holster and pointed it at him, trying but failing to look intimidating on the ground. He managed to struggle to his feet and now, everyone was pointing their wands at him.  
  
The unfamiliar wand in his left hand looked strange. His grip on the magical stick was mediocre, looking as though he was going to drop it any minute now. When they had duelled, Hermione instantly noticed the gracefulness in every spell he had cast. Even when she had first captured him, he had been surrounded by enemies, but he was poised as usual. That was not him now; he looked everything but confident.  
  
He must’ve been right-handed. Hermione would feel bad for him if he deserved her pity, but he didn’t and no one wanted pity, anyway. Most wizards and witches had gotten used to using magic with one hand, their dominant hand; Malfoy must’ve been one of them. Hermione hadn’t had time to teach herself how to fight with her left hand either. Some also couldn’t be functional with other wands. The wand that Malfoy was holding right then was not cooperating with his magic.  
  
“ _A-Avada Kedavra!_ ”  Malfoy stuttered, a faint green light glowing at the tip of the wand before it disappeared completely.  
  
They all laughed at him, except for Hermione. She did not find things such as a wizard unable to use magic properly laughable.  
  
“ _Crucio!_ ” Draco’s guard cursed, the spell hitting him from the back. Malfoy was weak. He had lost two vital things in the space of a couple of hours. His wand and his hand were now gone, and he was obviously weakened. He collapsed to his knees instantly after he was hit, letting out a guttural groan.  
  
The girl hopped on his back, her boots dirtying his already muddied robes. The leader snatched his wand back from him and snorted in amusement.  
  
“Is that all you can do, Malfoy?” the leader mocked, kicking Draco’s cheek. “Is that what your family constantly boasts about?”  
  
“Water…” Malfoy rasped so unlike his arrogant jests. “Need water.”  
  
The leader loudly chuckled and pulled his wand out. “Open that mouth for me.”  
  
Malfoy followed his order.  
  
The leader placed his wand inside of Draco’s mouth and cast, “ _Aguamenti_.”  
  
Malfoy could handle it at first, taking several large gulps but the water soon became too much for him and he began choking and snorting.  
  
“Stop!” shouted Hermione.  
  
All heads turned to look at her. The wand halted in spurting water at least.  
  
“You better watch your mouth, Mudblood whore,” the girl who was still standing on top of Malfoy sneered. “We could cut off _your_ hand too, you know.”  
  
Hermione blanched, hating the way this child was talking to her. She could easily beat this girl in a fist or wand fight. She had no right to talk to her like that.  
  
She glared at her, gnashing her teeth as she spoke, “Let’s just go to the Ministry.”  
  
“If you do that again, I’ll cut off your other hand and send it to your daddy,” the leader threatened, sneering at Malfoy.  
  
After that, he left Malfoy alone and they continued walking.  
  
As they travelled, Hermione realized that she was a failure. She vowed to not let anything bad happen to Malfoy and she failed. She promised to get him to Hogwarts in one piece and she failed. She offered her life for his and she failed. She was a failure. She had been so caught up in her own pain that she’d forgotten she was supposed to protect Draco Malfoy.  
  
_We shouldn’t have taken the bridge._  


**. . .**  


Her guard had told her that Malfoy suffered because of her.  Hermione figured out that he must’ve done something to anger the leader, but apparently, Draco convinced him not to let his men rape her. Angered by his defiance, the leader had chopped off his hand with a cursed blade for good measure. As he took the knife to him, he had called it a _quid pro quo_ , a favour even. His hand was not going to grow back. It would stay a stump forever. No known magic would be able to stitch his right hand back to his wrist.  
  
Hermione observed him; he gazed absently upon his meal, his live hand stroking the dead fingers that still hung around his neck. He looked a mess. He looked as though he had already died even when he was still breathing. He had given up just because of a few mishaps. Draco Malfoy was the worst person she had ever met.  
  
“You should eat,” she told him, glaring at his pitiful form.  
  
His response was quiet and pathetic. “I’m dying, Granger.”  
  
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You can’t die. How are you going to get justice for yourself if you’re dead?”  
  
“Justice isn’t real,” he absently said. “I can’t grow my hand back.”  
  
“You haven’t changed, have you?” she taunted, her nose scrunching up. “You’re still a coward who hides behind his father’s Death Eater robes. You lost one hand and a wand, and you’re acting like—“  
  
“My right hand,” he interjected a tad bit louder this time. “I write with that hand, I wield my wand with that hand, I beat my cock with that hand! I _was_ that hand. My magic was that wand. I learned my first spells with that wand. That wand was me. And now, I feel like a fucking Squib.”  
  
She let out an exasperated sigh. He really hadn’t changed. He was still as overdramatic as he was when Buckbeak scraped his arm in Third Year.  
  
“There are people,” she began fiercely, “in this world—in this camp, even—who are being raped and tortured and killed in front of their own spouses right now. There are people who live their whole lives as beaten slaves. There are people whose children are assaulted in front of them, but still manage to raise their heads up and crack a smile, and you give up and want to die just because they cut off one fucking hand?”  
  
She stared him down until he gave up and his convulsing hands started to eat his now cold meal.  
  
“I know what you did for me,” she mumbled. “Their hands suddenly stopped—what did you tell him?”  
  
Draco’s grey eyes met hers before he looked away quickly.  
  
“Nothing,” he denied, shoving more food into his mouth. She knew that he knew what she was talking about. She also knew that he would never admit it out loud. Malfoy was not the type to boast about good deeds, even if he did boast about _everything_ else.  
  
Hermione shut her eyes and leaned her head against the tree behind her.  
  
“Thank you.”  
   
When she opened her eyes, she saw Draco’s own widened eyes and gaping lips. She had seen a little bit of light beginning to creep up his eyes once more.


	4. Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanking beautifudreamer_x for Beta'ing this fic! Couldn't have done this without you!

The nape of his neck was sore and aching. The muscles in his shoulders and upper back felt tight, uncomfortable, and firm. He had bowed and looked down on the hand tied around his neck for too long, but he did not care. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the dead limb, anyway. His mind didn’t wander far from it either. He didn’t know what to do without his right hand. He didn’t know what or who he was without his right hand.  
  
The people who loathed him were finally right; Draco Malfoy was a worthless piece of shit, spineless and cowardly.  
  
What was his purpose now? All he knew was wand-wielding, always with his right hand and now, both his weapon and hand were gone. He was useless now. He didn’t have anything to be proud of anymore.  
  
What was he doing still alive? What else was left for him to live for? Was anything worth doing anymore?

Even when he was a child, Draco had problems doing magic with his left hand. He had gotten frustrated about it when he was in First Year and his parents ended up having to come to Hogwarts. He hadn’t been able to do the simplest of spells with his left hand holding his Hawthorn wand. He hadn’t been versatile. He remembered his parents being disappointed in him for the hundredth time that year because of that fact. That was all he was now, a disappointment. He remembered staying up for most of his Hogwarts nights to better his wandwork with his right hand to make up for his useless left hand – to attempt being useful for once.  
  
He felt a kick to his back and immediately, he dropped to his knees. He swallowed whatever saliva was left in his mouth and looked around at where he was.  
  
_The Ministry?_  
  
Draco had certainly been in the Ministry of Magic more times than he could count, but he did not remember the place having bright yellow brick walls. In fact, he was sure that he heard of the place being burned down sometime after the Battle of Hogwarts. They must’ve rebuilt the place, then. He would’ve been impressed if his right hand wasn’t rotting around his neck at that moment.  
  
He suddenly felt something he hadn’t felt in years, fear. After the Dark Lord died, Draco had begun to be careless with his life. He had taught himself to bury fear under meaningless fucking, drinking, and killing. Distressing emotions had no place in war. His heart was thumping in his chest like a marching band, though. There was an uncomfortable dread sitting low in his stomach. Draco was afraid.  
  
The Minister might kill him—and Granger—he turned his sore neck to look for his Mudblood escort. She was right next to him, kneeling with her back straight like the honourable and frigid fighter she was.  
  
He released a sigh for a reason he did not know. At least Granger was alive and had both of her hands. Sometimes, the nightmares that visited him because of his fever showed Granger getting raped and beaten to death in front of him. In those dreams, he did nothing. He always did nothing—whether it be in real life or blurry feverish visions, he didn’t do anything to help. He never needed or even wanted to help others. He was just not a good person, in general. He didn’t know if guilt was enough to make him divine, but it was the closest he got to being good.  
  
Another kick pushed against his curved back, making him fall to his face into the hard marble of the Ministry’s floor. He groaned in pain, hoping his nose hadn’t been broken for the second time on this ‘trip.’  
  
“Minister King, I present to you, the great Malfoy heir!” the cheery voice of the gang leader declared mockingly somewhere above him.  
  
In his opinion, ‘Minister King’ sounded like an awful oxymoron. Whose last name was King anyway? But then again, they once had a Minister whose surname was Fudge, so maybe they elected whoever had the most absurd last name.  
  
He hadn’t even had the chance to glance at the Minister, or maybe he had, he just hadn’t noticed or cared.  
  
“What did you do to him, Rummage?” Draco assumed that it was the Minister who spoke. “Get him up, now.”  
  
Apparently, the leader’s name was Rummage. Draco felt stupid, all of a sudden, as hands grabbed his arms and pulled him into a standing position.  
  
Draco stared at the Minister through his long, muddied hair. King seemed a bit too young to be a Minister, probably 45-ish or so. He suddenly felt as though he was in some kind of role-play where the actors’ ages did not match their characters.  
  
“You’ve lost a hand,” Minister King pointed out and Draco’s chest tightened at the reminder. His right hand was not attached to his wrist.  
  
_My hand is gone. My wand is gone._  
  
He heard Rummage chuckle behind him.  
  
“He’s got it around his neck, pretty little design.”  
  
_My hand is gone._  
  
The Minister in front of him looked shocked and disgusted. He reached up to Draco and snatched his hand away from his neck, throwing it to Rummage.  
  
_My hand is gone. My hand is gone. My hand is gone._  
  
“That is a new kind of low for you, Rummage,” the Minister said. “Take that away from me.”  
  
Rummage still sounded amused. “I’ll attach it to an owl and send it to his father. How much—“  
  
“Do that and I’ll make sure you will never see light again,” the Minister hastily cut off.  
  
_My hand is gone._  
  
Minister King turned to look at Granger.  
  
“That is… Hermione Granger from the Order,” he stated, shock evident in his tone. “I am so sorry, Ms Granger. This rabid pack of wizards is beyond my control.”  
  
Granger stood up.  
  
“I apologize as well, Minister,” she politely responded.  
  
How could she act so proper in the worst of moments?  
  
“Escort them to our best rooms,” the Minister commanded. “We’ll have a talk later.”

Then, he turned away, attempting to leave them. Draco didn’t know that there were rooms in the Ministry of Magic now. Maybe the place had become an evacuation centre for victims of war, of some sorts. He could not fathom how the Ministry became the best of Wizarding humanity. Maybe Minister King was going to spare them.  
  
A question suddenly made its way into Draco’s mind, and he would not dare to rest until it had been answered.  
  
“Minister King,” he called out, his voice pitiful and weak. What would his father think of him now?  
  
The Minister turned back to him, an expectant look on his face.  
  
He hesitated. “Are there… Have you heard any news from Hogwarts?”  
  
Something flickered in King’s eyes—something Draco knew he was familiar with but could not name at the moment.  
  
“You haven’t heard?” the Minister asked, sounding almost appalled to talk to him. “My army sided with the Order. We obliterated Malfoy Manor and took back Hogwarts. There are still many Death Eaters lingering around old mansions and ancient vaults, but your side is losing, Malfoy. And your parents… well…”  
  
His mother. Where was his mother? During their whole ‘trip’, Draco had thought his mother was sipping tea with Ginny Weasley at Hogwarts peacefully. And his father was somewhere the main headquarters, trying to slither his way back up the Death Eater hierarchy.  
  
Fear choked his heart once more. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to take it if he lost his wand, hand, and parents in such a short amount of time. He was sure that he would go insane—like the many victims of the Cruciatus Curse, he would spend his remaining life locked up in a white hospital, murmuring things to people that weren’t there.  
  
Minister King stepped closer to him, making him believe that he was about to receive a hug, but he just leaned in. His face was contorted in worry, his eyes full of pity, and his mouth looked as though it was about to regret whatever it was going to say.  
  
“How can I put this?” King’s eyes darted around the place in apprehension.  
  
Draco gulped, his eyes widening and his lungs constricting into each other. His breathing was now loud, too loud and everybody could hear it.  
  
“Lucius and Narcissa,” the Minister paused, shaking his head, “are alive and well, still waiting for your return in Hogwarts. Your father approached me after I went with the Order, practically begging for reprieve. Your mother told me that she had been in contact with Molly Weasley and that they had constructed a plan for you and Ginevra Weasley to be returned.”  
  
Relieved shock overcame him. He lost his balance and fell to his knees a second time like something undignified. He did not care. His family was alive. He had something to live for. His fever was worsening, that he could feel. His body felt too hot. Everything seemed painful and numb at the same time.  
  
_They’re alive. They’re alive. They’re alive._  
  
He had sacrificed so much for his family: his honour, his innocence, his once murder-free hands, and even Dumbledore—all gone just for his parents. They were the only love he ever knew.  
  
“Mr Malfoy is not feeling well,” King informed them. “Take him to a Healer.”  
  
And when they left, the guards carried him this time.

**. . .  
  
**

His Healer was a woman. She had a round and fat face, her dirty blonde hair longer than her back. She was probably the same age as him and Granger.  
  
Granger. She would approve of this, he thought. She would definitely approve of ‘powerful’ women running the world. Yes, she would unquestionably like the idea of that. His mother wouldn’t. In fact, she was the opposite. Narcissa believed that women should be taken care of and to never have to work a day in their lives.  
  
_She’ll kill me._ That was the first thing he had thought when he first studied the Healer. And if her scowling face was an indication, it was clear that she loathed him. He also could have sworn that she smirked a bit when she saw his surely infected stump.  
  
She whispered something under her breath and his whole right arm started to throb. He realized she had put a spell on him.  
  
“What are you doing?” he rasped.  
  
She ignored him, mixing suspicious-coloured liquids in a thumb-sized vial.  
  
“Can you make it grow back?” he foolishly asked, feeling like a hopeful First Year filled with dreams.  
  
She snorted. “Of course not, imbecile.”  
  
He suspected that she was one of those people who thought they were better than everyone else just because of their jobs, money, and status.  
  
_Like me._  
  
Draco resented her already.  
  
“The best thing for me to do is to cut your whole arm off,” she casually told him, brandishing her wand like she was a butcher preparing to slash a pig’s head off.  
  
“No,” he immediately responded. He did not want to live with only one arm. No. He needed to have some type of dignity left in him—just a little bit.  
  
The Healer glanced at him and then laughed like a fucking maniac. Her laughter gave more chills to his body than the Dark Lord ever had.  
  
“I’m surprised you didn’t bleed to death,” she continued. “I’m guessing worse men have incredibly better luck.”  
  
“You hate me,” Draco stated, glaring weakly at her. “Why?”  
  
She waved her wand in the most complicated pattern and his whole arm began to numb.  
  
“You’re not used to it, aren’t you?” she asked. “Your lot—the Death Eaters and even the Order—you’re all so used to people worshipping you and then you come here, to the place every innocent person thought was safe just to cause destruction.”

She poured the potion she had been making earlier into an open syringe.  
  
“What?”  
  
He was already beginning to weaken because of whatever curse she had put on him. He was cold. Goosebumps started to pop out of his skin and he shivered.  
  
“You don’t know that people like me hate you so much,” she proceeded, putting a mask and gloves on. “You’re all so violent. You kill, torture, and maim just to prove you can. Like fire, you were brought here by God to cause havoc, to reintroduce evil, and to destroy everybody’s lives. People like you deserve to just disappear.”  
  
The room was turning left and right in front of him, back and forth, never halting. Bile was rising up his throat, the sour taste on his tongue, just waiting to be projected into the floor. His heart… his heart was a blacksmith’s hammer, loudly pounding into his ribs, making the bones sore and bent. He was sweating but still freezing. Was this what death felt like?  
  
“Not even die,” she rambled, pinching and slapping his wrist to prepare him for an injection, “you lot don’t deserve Lucifer. You don’t deserve an angel—not even one like the devil. No. You deserve to just fade away and be gone.”  
  
Fade away, that was what was happening to him right now. She pushed the sharp and huge needle into his veins and his vision greyed. It was black at first, then white, then both of them together, and then nothing at all.  
  
He swore he heard his heart stop for a moment before he was lost.

**. . .  
  
**

He startled awake, panting and gasping for more air.  
  
_Where’s the Cabinet?  
_  
He must’ve fallen asleep again while searching for how to fix it.  
  
_I’m late for Transfiguration again. Fuck.  
  
_ He sat up, wondering why he was in a bed. And where were all his books?  
  
Draco looked to his right and gasped, suddenly remembering that he was not a Sixth Year student anymore and that there was no Vanishing Cabinet to fix, or a Headmaster to kill. Those were already done. His hand and wand were already gone.  
  
He would dream of his Sixth Year whenever he had drunk too much. It was truly the worst thing he’d ever gone through with an exception of his hand being chopped off. He had been 16 years of age and confused. He had been so sure that he was going to die that year – that Dumbledore would kill him with one swish.  
  
He raised his stump to his head, automatically attempting to tangle his missing fingers with his crust hair. He dropped his right arm with a pathetic sigh, lifting instead his left hand and gripped his dried locks.  
  
He did not want to remember Dumbledore and how he had killed him. He did not want to remember himself in such a humiliating time.  
  
Instead, he recalled his Healer—his vile fucking Healer—with all her bitter statements and arrogant laughs. She had judged him. Honestly, misjudged would be the better word. Fucking neutrals, thinking that they were better than everyone else. They were all fucking cowards—cravens who couldn’t make a decision and pick a damn side. The world would be better without _them._  
_  
Fuck all this. I’m too weak to be angry.  
  
_ He hastily stood up, his thighs shaking a tad. He immediately faced himself. No, it was not technically him but instead a reflection of him in the mirror.  
  
He was ugly. If he would be like this forever, there would be no more fucking different women every night type of lifestyle. Everyone would stray from him. No one would ever like him again.  
  
He was uglier without a hand.  He stared at it, his pitiful stump. His wound had been bandaged carefully and neatly. Even with all her ramblings, his Healer was a talented one. The fingers on his left hand itched to remove the wrappings around the stump to see what it truly looked like. He did not want to look at it, but something in him was intrigued.  
  
He studied the man in front of him once again. This pale, dirty, and disabled man was going to be who he was for the rest of his worthless life.  
  
Draco sighed, his eyes automatically gazing back down at his feet as if his body was already sick of itself.  
  
_I need a bath.  
  
_

**. . .  
  
**

Draco found his Mudblood fighter in the Ministry’s very own bathhouse. The luxurious place was complete with gold-plated pillars, gold candles, and gold chandeliers. He was instantly reminded of his father’s Gringotts vault.  
  
_Why would the Ministry have a bathhouse?_  
  
He entertained the thought of Minister King bathing with sex workers for a full minute before he got bored. He answered his own question by convincing himself that the Ministry had turned into an evacuation centre for all of the people who wanted to stay neutral.  
  
Granger was staring into the water, looking lost and frankly, stupid. The look did not suit her at all.  
  
“ _Avada Kedavra,_ ” he jokingly said, anticipating her reaction.  
  
Seeing the frizz-haired mess stumble in shock made him chuckle. The laugh made his chest ache, but he actually lost fucks for once.  
  
Her brown eyes met his grey ones in a harsh glare. “That is not funny.”

He shrugged, limping his way into the edge of the pool.  
  
“What are you doing, Malfoy?”  
  
Draco struggled to get out of the plain robes they had put him in, his head getting stuck for a short while.  
  
“I’m fucking filthy,” he replied. “Almost as filthy as you, Granger.”  
  
“Fuck you, Malfoy.”  
  
“If you mean it, I will,” said Draco, finally managing to stand nude with his clothes on the floor. “But why would a disgraced amputee deserve the Brightest Witch of Her Age?”  
  
She scoffed, rolling her eyes and beginning to soap herself up. It was then that Draco realized that Hermione Granger was naked. He slowly stalked towards the tub she was in, wondering if the water could make up for weeks without sex. Succumbing to the warm bathwater, Draco stepped into the tub. He did not dare to look away from Hermione Granger’s bare shoulders.  
  
He wondered if Granger thought of him as ugly as well.  
  
She glared when he made himself comfortable in the tub.  
  
“I know, I know,” he began, rather meekly for his tastes, “it’s hard to take your eyes off of my glorious body, but would you mind if—“  
  
“I’ve seen better,” she muttered and Draco laughed again.  
  
His head was beginning to hurt. He felt as though his pain was never-ending.  
  
“I’m dying,” he told her, drawling the words out his mouth. “I’m going to be the first Malfoy who dies in a bathtub.”  
  
“Nice legacy,” she said, continuing to scrub at her body, removing dead skin cells.  
  
“You won’t let me die, though.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Draco nodded, shutting his eyes. “Mrs Weasley. My mother. Hogwarts. Ginny. All that shit. You know what you need to do.”  
  
She grunted as if that was an acceptable response.  
  
“You’re my great saviour, Granger.” He exaggerated the way his mouth opened to show her that all his words were a mockery of the truth. “You are my brave knight. You’re my fucking Harry Potter.”  
  
He cracked one eye open and saw her stiff as a board, her jaw squared. He waited for an angry rant or even a loud lecture, but he was disappointed.  
  
“Don’t mock me,” was all she said though before she continued bathing.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
The words flew out of his mouth before he could even think of saying them. He immediately wanted to close his right hand into a fist but was disappointed again.  
  
“Let’s stop fighting,” Granger suggested, looking him in the eye. “I’ll accept your apology if you stop provoking me.”  
  
“A truce?” he sceptically asked. “That doesn’t suit us, to be honest with you, but I trust you.”  
  
An ugly pause went over the both of them.  
  
“What does that have to do with anything?” inquired Granger.  
  
“My father always said that you need to have trust to have a truce,” he drawled. “Not his best quotation, but not the worst. He once told me that in order to have your wife stay with you even if you’re unfaithful, you need to—“  
  
“I trust you as well,” she interrupted, a genuine and passionate glint passing through her brown eyes. He felt his cock hardening under her intense gaze. Would Granger look at him like that during the dark hours of a long pleasure?  
  
He shrugged her words off and put one of his legs over the other uncomfortably.  
  
“What did a poor, dishonourable man ever do to deserve your trust, my lady?” He tried to lift his lips upward into a smirk but miserably failed.  
  
“You saved me,” she honestly answered. “Thank you.”  
  
Now, he truly was uncomfortable. A grimace, he was sure, was about to form on his face. Granger’s bright eyes lit up the dim bathhouse and he did not like it.  
  
“I’m not a good man, Granger,” he informed her, rolling his eyes and scoffing. “Telling Rummage to fuck off is the only good deed I’ve ever done in my life.”  
  
“Don’t care,” she said. “I still want to thank you.”  
  
He didn’t know why, but Draco was bent on convincing her that he was not a good person and to do that, he needed to be stripped off of all the faux nobility and courage.  
  
“I’ve seen it all, you know,” he began, looking at her as intensely as she had been looking at him. “I’ve seen a mother being raped by three men in front of her four-year-old baby. I’ve seen an 11-year-old girl being ripped to shreds by a single word. I’ve seen a man under the Imperius Curse sodomize his own niece, a nine-year-old. I’ve seen the darkest psyche of humanity and I never did anything to stop it.  
  
“Those First Years I used to bully being raped until they’re dead.” Something wet was in his eyes, making his vision a bit blurry. He took a deep breath, remembering the small and round faces begging him – begging for him to make everything stop. “Those Slytherin children that looked up to me burning to death, their screams – the shrillness of their voices, it haunted me for a very long time.  
  
“Pansy,” he recalled the remnants of her dark-as-night hair on his bedroom floor. They had marked her everywhere on the chest, cut her nipples off, and wrote ‘whore’ on her back. “They made me watch them kill her. I did nothing. My mother’s torture after the Battle of Hogwarts, I watched and I did nothing. Every night in my dreams, they come and visit me, telling me how much of a coward I am. They’re right. I _am_ a coward. I didn’t do enough—I never did enough.”  
  
He splashed some water on his face with his left hand.  
  
“You shouldn’t thank me,” he forcibly chuckled. “I’ve let too many terrible things happen. You shouldn’t be thanking me.”  
  
Draco expected disgust in the way she stared at him. He expected overreaction with Granger kicking the water and drowning him in the depths of the tub. He was a fucking monster and he at least wanted her to say it.  
  
But she didn’t. She just looked at him with her steely eyes and set mouth for a long time. Draco could not do anything but stare back at her.  
  
“I’ve been raped before,” she suddenly spoke up after what must have been minutes of silence, “by two Death Eaters, three from the Order. I… I killed them in the end, but I couldn’t—I wouldn’t want to go through that one more time.”  
  
What was one supposed to say after Hermione Granger told them that she had been raped? He honestly did not know. So, he just sat there like an idiot and blinked awkwardly whenever she glanced at him.  
  
What was the point of her telling him that?  
  
“I…” she stuttered. That was strange. Granger never stuttered. She was perfect in every way. “I know that you didn’t do enough for those people, but… but you did enough for me. And I thank you for that.”  
  
For the first time since he entered the bathhouse, Hermione Granger looked vulnerable—no, not vulnerable, never vulnerable—but this was the first time he’d ever seen her look and act so genuine and human.  
  
Huh. Hermione Granger was a human, a real person with flaws and sensibilities, not just a soldier of war who followed orders or led armies. Well, Hermione the human spurned something in Draco’s heart. Her words filled the void he’d been feeling ever since he had killed Dumbledore. For once in his life, he felt like the strongest man in the world because of her. He felt like he could remake the Roman Empire and conquer the world. He felt as though he was finally at peace. He felt like he finally did something right.  
  
And then, he did something completely wrong.


	5. Deity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I don't even ship Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth! I think they're better off as friends. I just thought that this would be so challenging to write! Thanks again to my Beta, beautifuldreamer_x, for helping throughout all this!

He kissed her.  
  
_What?_  
  
Hermione sat there, fingers pruned and all, absolutely shocked as Draco Malfoy’s lips rested on hers. It did not happen quickly. In fact, he practically limped his way across the tub until he was directly in front of her. There had been plenty of time for her to push him away and for him to back up, but they hadn’t, and now he was kissing her.  
  
His lips were full of dry skin that practically begged to be tear away. Her eyes closed automatically and she leaned in, kissing him back. Malfoy shifted his mouth to comfortably suck and gently bite on her lips. Hermione held her breath when his teeth grazed against her own, reluctantly tugging at his lower lip.  
  
It was a strange experience, kissing Draco Malfoy. His technique matched that of his duelling – swift and sweet. He had moved surely and confidently when they had fought, and he did the same now, not wasting any time in stalling or asking her how she liked it. He knew what exactly he wanted and he took it. He had been raised a spoiled boy and Hermione would not be surprised if he threw a tantrum after she rejected him and pushed him away.  
  
Then she suddenly realized that she was snogging Draco Malfoy, completely ensnared in his temptation and embarrassingly making sounds not of disapproval but instead of pleasure. Why would he even kiss her? Why would he even _want_ to kiss her?  
  
She clawed his shoulders and roughly pushed his nude body from hers. They sat there, most of their bodies submerged under the warm water of the tub, only just realizing what they had been doing.  
  
Hermione shakily took hold of the soap once again, cleared her throat, and began what would be her third scrubbing for the day.  
  
She hadn’t intimately touched a person of the opposite sex ever since her trauma. She could never handle it. She had drenched herself in training to be a better fighter and dueller just so she could quickly and successfully fight off whoever or whatever was about to attack her next. She’d been so sure that she would be celibate for the rest of her life after that, but now…  
  
Why was she even contemplating sex with Malfoy, of all people? He called her the worst of names, he insulted and humiliated her, and he was not a good person in general. Why was she suddenly so willing to wrap her arms around his neck and snog him?  
  
It took him a kiss— _one sodding kiss—_  to play her right into his arms. She felt her cheeks redden and heat up. She honestly thought that she had better control than this.  
  
“Are you blushing?” Malfoy, of course, sounded condescending and mocking like he always did. She wondered if he even had some semblance of respect for her.  
  
Abruptly, Hermione realized that she would not and could not take this from him today and so, she stood up, bare and dripping, fetched herself a towel, and left a one-handed man to his own bath.

**. . .  
  
**

Malfoy looked better after he had washed himself. As he struggled to put robes on his body in front of the mirror, Hermione caught a glimpse of his younger self. The way he grunted in annoyance whenever his robes fell down again and the way he sneered at his stump whenever he realized it was there were reminiscent of his Hogwarts day.  
  
Hermione had never thought she would ever see the day when Draco Malfoy hated himself or at least a part of himself. He’d always seemed like the type to over-love himself. Maybe it was because of his overt confidence or his vexing arrogance—whatever it was, Draco Malfoy carried himself with great appeal.  
  
Trust Malfoy to look dashing even after losing a hand. To her, he did not look attractive. She felt like ‘majestic’ would be a better word to describe him. He looked like a painting of a King after a war, weary but still managed to be regal.  
  
_It must be his blond hair. A golden crown.  
  
_ Why she was suddenly thinking about Malfoy’s appearance, she did not know, so she glanced away and looked around their room. There were no bookcases or bookshelves or even an old textbox on top of the nightstand.  
  
Hermione frowned, realizing that she had missed reading. It had been a long time since she’d fully immersed herself in a novel. Probably even before the Horcrux situation. How she could have lost passion for it, she did not know. She loved reading. She loved the scent of both old and new parchment. Books were the last memory she had of love. She wished she had a book right now just so she could remember the feeling again. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to capture the same eagerness she had when she was younger, but at least a semblance of it would do for her.  
  
“Hey, Granger,” Malfoy’s usual drawl hit her ears and snapped her out of her book-reminiscing.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Was I your first kiss?” He turned to face her, finally fully dressed and decent, smirking like the useless git he was.  
  
She scoffed, smoothing the creases on her sheets as a way to control herself from not breaking his nose for the third time in her lifetime.  
  
“You’re not that special, Malfoy.”  
  
“Was mine the first kiss you enjoyed, at least?” he persisted, walking towards his own bed and ploughing his body right into the mattress.  
  
“Who said I ever enjoyed you?”  
  
He chuckled, waving his stump like an idiot. “But you enjoyed my mouth and my tongue… and my teeth.”  
  
She rolled her eyes and lay on her bed, turning to her side as to not give him the satisfaction of her looking at him. “Shut up, Malfoy.”  
  
“I heard you whimper, Granger,” he smugly informed her and Hermione cringed when he had mentioned it, “Hermione Granger, the saviour of the Order and the Brightest Witch of Her Age, whimpering because of my kiss. Wait until my father hears about this. I can just imagine his terror—”  
  
“Shut up,” she repeated, louder and with more force this time. “We’re at war, Malfoy. We’re not supposed to discuss frivolous things such as snogging. We’re not teenagers anymore, so _shut_ _up_.”  
  
Thankfully, he did shut up. Then, of course, she remembered that this was Draco Malfoy and there was absolutely no way that he could keep his mouth shut for much longer than a few minutes.  
  
“You’re such mood-killer, Granger,” he said. It might be the hundredth time she had rolled her eyes at him. However, she couldn’t help but do it again.  
  
This time, she had managed to ignore him and sleep as peacefully as she could with the faces of the people she had killed appearing in her dreams.

**. . .  
  
**

When she had awoken, the first person she saw was Malfoy. He was still sitting on his bed, wearing formal robes and staring at his stump. He seemed to be lost in thought; his eyes were spaced out and bright. He was sad about his lost hand again.  
  
She did not understand him so she tried to imagine her own hand gone. She was sure it would hurt for a few weeks, but after that, she would probably just start training with her other hand. She would not mope around and be sad like Malfoy was doing; instead, she would try to better herself. She did not understand his dramatics. She did not get why he was still practically crying about it.  
  
“Mourning about loss does nothing,” she softly told him, “but revenge does.”  
  
He snapped his head up to look at her in slight shock, but then he masked it away with one smirk.  
  
“I’m not like you, Granger,” he responded.  
  
She stood up, looking around for a change of clothes.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean,” he emphasized, his tone slightly mocking, “I’m not a super-woman like you. I don’t immediately bounce back after a defeat like you. No one’s like that, Granger. No one except you.”  
  
She found formal robes on the foot of her bed. It was the same colour as her Yule Ball gown. She held it up and frowned.  
  
“Is that an insult?”  
  
Draco chuckled. “No. It’s pretty amazing what you can do, but I can’t be like that. I cry over shit I can’t control and then after a while, I’ll try to forget it – and I fail. They’re like ghosts, you know. Bad experiences, I mean. They’re like ghosts who mock you and sit on your shoulders. They follow you around and they never die because, well, they’re already dead.”  
  
Their eyes met. His were depressed, honestly, and seemed to have already given up. Again, she felt bad for him.  
  
Hermione nodded, sympathetically. “I get it.”  
  
“You do?” he sceptically asked, and she nodded again. “Well, who’s your ghost, Granger?”  
  
She stared at a button on his black robes as she answered, “Harry and Ron. They sit on each of my shoulders.”  
  
She took a deep breath and exhaled it all back out, slowly. “I miss them.”  
  
Ron had been smiling the night before the Battle of Sever Alley. He had been the one who took all of her fears away. He had reassured everyone that they could win. They hadn’t, though. They had lost and Ron had been killed by Bellatrix Lestrange’s husband. They had a plan. If they were outnumbered, they would Disapparate immediately. Hermione had done that, and so had the entirety of the team who had fought then except for Ron. He still had been fighting and they hadn’t even realized it until they were already somewhere safe. They had only found out that he was dead when Bellatrix had thrown his head at them the next battle after that.  
  
To this day, she blamed herself. It was her fault and she knew it. Her nightmares made sure she remembered it every night. She should’ve made sure that Ron was right next to her, safe and sound. She should’ve saved him.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Malfoy suddenly spoke up.  
  
Something wet was dripping down from her cheeks to her neck.  
  
_Am I crying?_  
  
She covered her face with her sleeves, instantly sniffing and wiping her tears away. She glanced at Malfoy before looking away, embarrassed. Her previously drenched cheeks were now heating up and most probably reddening.  
  
“I have tons of ghosts myself,” he tried to lighten the situation up, letting out a forced laugh. “The most prominent ones are my parents. And I know they’re alive and they can’t actually be ghosts, but… they occupy my mind most of the time especially now that my hand and wand are gone. I’m basically a fucking Squib and I’m sure you can guess what their opinions are about Squibs and Muggles.”  
  
“They hate them?” she interjected.  
  
“Yeah." He snorted. “They pretty much hate everybody except for themselves. Snape’s one of my ghosts, too. I could never understand why he … Dumbledore! He’s one of them as well.”  
  
Hermione did not miss that he cut himself off before he spoke too much about their former Potions Professor, but she felt like she was not supposed to ask about it.  
  
So, she asked about their Headmaster instead. “What happened with Dumbledore, anyway?”  
  
Draco paused, his eyes wide and his eyebrows high. “He’s dead.”  
  
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his awful answer.  
  
“I’m the one who killed him,” he continued.  
  
“I know that. I’m asking—“  
  
“His last word was ‘please,’” he interrupted her, “he was begging for something that I’m still trying to figure out today. He tried to talk me out of it, I think. He told me that the Order can help me and that I didn’t have to kill him. He fell down the Tower like someone undignified. When Snape went up, he was shocked and he immediately took me away. I was fucking terrified, to be honest. When the Dark Lord told me that killing Dumbledore was one of my tasks, I’d been preparing to die. There was one time when I couldn’t fix the goddamn Cabinet and I was just so shaken up. I was so fucking ready to kill myself in the Room of Hidden Things with nobody ever finding out. Never thought I’d be saying that out loud, but I didn’t go through with it. Suicide seemed too in-character for me, too cowardly, and expected. So then, I thought I would kill Dumbledore myself after what seemed to be the hundredth failed attempt to do it discreetly. It was going to be my first and last act of bravery. Me, a Sixth Year student, killing the greatest wizard of all time. I was going to be a fucking legend. My parents would be safe from the Dark Lord and I would kill Albus Dumbledore. If I wasn’t going to kill him then my parents and I would die. Those were the things I thought of that night. My parents’ lives or Dumbledore’s? The people who raised me and gave me everything I wanted or my school Headmaster? The only people who loved me or the person who took away Slytherin’s rightful victory in my First Year? And so, I chose.”  
  
Hermione tried to put herself in his shoes back in Sixth Year. If her parents’ lives were in danger and would only be saved if she killed Dumbledore, would she have done it? The answer was yes. No matter what she had thought of Draco Malfoy back then, she knew that she would’ve done the same. Her parents had been the only people who loved her in her childhood as well. When toys began to float around her, others had been scared of her, but her parents had told her that she was just special even if they hadn't understood why it was happening as well.  
  
She did not agree with Malfoy’s casual attitude about Dumbledore’s death, but she understood his choice. She would have done the same thing.  
  
“I don’t regret it,” he added. “I never once regretted it. I’m fucking glad my parents are alive. I know for a fact that if I hadn’t killed Dumbledore that night, my parents would be the ones who paid the price. So, no, I don’t regret it, but a person’s first murder always stays with him. My mind flashes back to his old face every time I kill someone else. That’s why he’s one of my ghosts.”  
  
Hermione nodded, not knowing what else to say to him.  
  
“It’s too fucking early for this, Granger." Malfoy mock-shuddered. “Next time, get dressed first.”  
  
And now, they were back to bickering.  
  
“How am I supposed to dress with you moping in front of me?”  
  
He smilingly rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m too distracting for you to even do a simple task such as dressing.”  
  
She let out an unexpected chuckle. Both of their eyes widened. Hermione clutched the blue robes tightly until her knuckles cracked.  
  
“I’m going to go change,” she muttered, turning away from him.

**. . .**

Minister King was a solid politician. He was conniving. Everything he said always had a purpose, everything he did was always planned, and everything was all under his control. He had a convincing smile and his eyes were… nice. Too nice, if she did say so herself. He looked younger than what Hermione felt like.  
  
The sound of Draco attempting and failing to cut his chicken with one hand reached her ears once again. The constant noise the utensil would make every time it hit his plate made her anxious and irritated. How much of this would she be able to take?  
  
“You both look immensely better now that you’ve changed into a fresh set of robes,” the Minister commented with his suspiciously kind smile.  
  
“Yes, Minister. Much, much better,” she agreed through clenched teeth and a forced smile. “What are your plans for us?”  
  
She inwardly cringed at the way she referred to Malfoy and herself as ‘us.’ She did not want to get used to the idea of them being together, but it seemed like she was spending too much time with him.  
  
The chicken slipped away from Malfoy’s plate and into the table. He dropped his fork on the plate with a loud ‘clang’, and picked the chicken up with his remaining hand.  
  
“Mr Malfoy’s parents would very much like it if I returned his son to him instantly,” Minister King told her. Draco put the chicken back on his plate and began struggling to cut it again. The consistent shuffling of his robes almost made her ears twitch.  
  
“And will you let us go back to Hogwarts?” she continued to ask, half her mind still mulling over what Malfoy was doing.  
  
“Well.” The Minister chuckled. "You know, both Narcissa and Molly betrayed their causes. How can I trust two traitors?”

“You don’t have to trust them,” she muttered. “Where’s Ginny Weasley, by the way?”  
  
“She apparently escaped Narcissa Malfoy’s clutches just about a week ago,” the Minister informed her, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Malfoy’s chicken was still whole, drying by the second as he attempted to cut it with his one hand. Not able to take it anymore, Hermione grabbed her own knife and used it to stab Malfoy’s chicken so he could cut parts of it successfully. “No one knows where she is. No one knows who she ran off with. I heard some people say that Harry Potter’s ghost kidnapped her.”  
  
The Minister laughed as if it was the best joke of the year and Hermione glared at him.  
  
“And where is Mrs Weasley right now?”  
  
“At Hogwarts,” Minister King said. “Most of the Order isn’t happy that the Malfoy family are living amongst them, but they don’t do anything about it because they’re afraid of me.”  
  
Hermione would never understand how others could be proud when they were feared. Fear was such an easy emotion to stir up in people. Having people love you, however, and having people respect you and whatever you did were harder to accomplish and much more stable. Love was one of the hardest things to forget, after all.  
  
“You must think that I should send you to Hogwarts,” the Minister guessed.  
  
“You should.” Malfoy nodded, shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth. “You have no use for me here.”  
  
“I don’t think you understand how valuable you are to many, Mr Malfoy,” Minister King turned his lips upwards in that same odd smile. “You would be surprised at how much people would be willing to pay just to have you sent to them and be killed by their own hands.”  
  
“I get it.” Malfoy chewed his chicken and wrinkled his nose. “My death is expensive, but my life is much pricier, right? My father would make you the King of the British Wizarding World if you sent me back to him alive.”  
  
And what was the British Wizarding World now? To her knowledge, it was but a shattered nation filled with broken people and corrupt money absolutely destroyed by war.  Hermione suddenly wondered what her life would be if there was no Voldemort, no Dumbledore, and no magic. She would probably be a dentist like her parents. She would’ve been far away from rape, torture, and blood. She would have been alright. Her heart and soul would still have been bright and alive.  
  
She had never been the type to regret events that had happened to her, but she sure wished that she never had magic in the first place. It was a nice gift, but the prejudice and trauma that came with it were not worth it.  
  
“You’re right,” the Minister said, slightly nodding, “but I’m not sure if I would find ‘King King’ a suitable name for myself. Truth be told, I would gain more supporters if I killed you both than if I let you go. And supporters are what I’m currently looking for.”  
  
She stiffened up, her fingers clenching the knife she had previously held to stab Malfoy’s chicken. A soft, cool touch covered her hand instantly. It was Malfoy’s own left hand. She stiffened up even more, visibly uncomfortable.  
  
“Would supporters be able to fund you as much as my father would?” Draco asked the Minister. “You know, my mother alone has access to five vaults. One’s mostly for priceless jewellery and accessories, three are for Galleons, and another one is for valuable antiques that are more expensive than most of your people’s lives.”  
  
Hermione wondered how the Malfoy's had garnered so much money. Was it all hard work from their ancestors? Maybe the Malfoys and Blacks had once been Dukes and Duchesses or Lords over lands. Maybe they had generational wealth that they kept on passing onto their children until it blossomed into something almost uncontrollable.  
  
“You think I’m greedy for money, Mr Malfoy?”  
  
Malfoy shook his head. “No. I think money is what you _need_ , not what you ultimately want. I suspect you were a Slytherin in school and that you crave power. You don’t want to live forever, but you want to be known forever. You want an impressive legacy.”  
  
The Minister stared at Draco for a long moment without blinking before chuckling rather darkly.  
  
“You sound just like your father, Draco,” he commented. “Has anyone told you that?”  
  
Malfoy shrugged. “I’ve heard a few of those comments.”  
  
Then the Minister took a deep breath. “I will allow you to go to Hogwarts after another consultation with our Healer as restitution for what Rummage had done to you. In exchange, I expect you to tell Mr Lucius Malfoy nothing but the truth. I expect you to tell him that I had not planned your maiming and that I had nothing to do with your missing hand.”  
  
She glanced at Malfoy; he looked as though he was about to smirk but did not.  
  
He let go of her hand and grab the bottle of some brand of ancient wine she had no clue on.  
  
“How about we toast to that?”  
  
The Minister smiled but shook his head. “I don’t drink.”  
  
Draco poured some of the red wine into her cup and into his.  
  
“Sounds very suspicious,” he mumbled before turning to her. “Well, it seems like our fine adventure isn’t over yet, Granger.”  
  
Minister King laughed again. “Miss Granger of the Order would not be going with you.”  
  
Hermione went rigid. What did the Minister mean?  
  
She cleared her throat. “Molly Weasley herself appointed me to escort Malfoy to Hogwarts. This is my mission. I took an oath—“  
  
“As much as I told you that you are like your father, Mr Malfoy, I’m afraid that you’ve got me wrong.” The Minister smiled. “I _am_ greedy for money. I will not let Miss Granger go until somebody wants to pay for her return.”  
  
“My father—“  
  
“All three of us know that Lucius Malfoy would never spend a Sickle on a… woman of Miss Granger’s status,” Minister King interrupted again. “I’m afraid you must stay here for the meantime, Hermione.”  
  
The Minister smiled again and Hermione’s heart pounded against her ribs. She was going to be alone again. She did not want to be alone, ever. She wanted to go back to Hogwarts and see the familiar colours again. She did not want to be trapped in a luxurious castle as a prisoner. She wanted to be free. All she wanted was to be free.

**. . .**

  
She had been the one who moped around their room tonight as Malfoy left her. His bed was neatly made and after their luncheon with the Minister, she never saw him again.  
  
What was she going to do now? Was she going to be a glorified assistant of the Minister? Would she be a maid? Would she tend to those who were sick and in pain? Was she ever going to leave this place?  
  
She was frightened. Especially now that it was dark in the room and there were barely any candles lit up. There wasn’t even a bloody book in the room for her to use as entertainment. Was she going to rot away in this place forever?  
  
The door to the room opened; Malfoy walked in.  
  
She stood up instantly.  
  
“I thought you had left,” she informed him.  
  
He stalked towards her bed and took a seat on top of it.  
  
“I’ll be gone tomorrow.”  
  
She stared at his stump for a moment before nodding.  
  
“What’s going to happen to me?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Draco whispered, shrugging his shoulders. “The Minister is also leaving tomorrow, off to some noble expedition of some sorts. They’re going to clear out a few ancient pure-blooded seats. You’re going to stay here. That is all I know.”  
  
The bitter taste of bile rising up her throat made its presence known and Hermione unwillingly swallowed it back down to her rampaging stomach.  
  
“With Rummage?” she clarified.  
  
Malfoy’s bright and silvery gaze widened as if he had only realized it now.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Hermione also gulped all of her fear down and straightened up her shoulders.  
  
Stepping closer to him, she said, “You must look for Ginny Weasley. You must find her and return her to her mother. I cannot fulfil that promise right now, so you must be the one to do it. For Molly Weasley, let Ginny be the only honourable thing you’ve ever done in your life. Be brave for me.”  
  
“I will,” was all he promised and that was all she needed from him.  
  
She let out a deep sigh, her eyes darting around the room to look for some distraction. Her eyes settled on the pretty floating candlesticks that she just loathed a minute ago. She heard him walk closer to her and suddenly, his lips were on hers.  
  
His remaining hand cupped her cheek as he pressed closer to her. She shut her eyes, holding him by the shoulders and letting the tears fall. His was the sweetest kiss she had ever tasted. That was this moment, sweet yet sad. She almost felt like a soldier’s wife in some of the films her mother used to watch. She felt like her soldier was about to leave her. She felt like she was betting against God for his life to be saved in the war. She felt like her kiss and her handkerchief were the only two things she could give him. She felt pathetic.  
  
Her tongue tapped against his lower lip for a small moment before they pulled away from each other. His grey eyes were hungry and downturned at the same time. The way he was biting his lip indicated that he was going to miss her tongue. His thumb brushed away her tears from one cheek, while he left the other alone.  
  
“Goodbye, Draco,” she whispered in the midst of his intense gaze and her pleading eyes.  
  
His hand left her cheek and she instantly felt lonely. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing was heard. Instead, he turned around and left her all alone.


	6. Worshipper

Somehow, even without her around him, Hermione Granger consumed his thoughts. He could not help but to constantly think of her. He would wonder if she was still alive and then he would scoff at himself because it was Hermione Granger he was thinking about; she always managed to find a way to survive. She was the strongest woman he had ever met.  
  
Hermione Granger had been like a fresh breeze of air after the bad breath of the truly evil people he had encountered. She was like the light at the end of a long, sun-less tunnel, like the first flight a bird took after being encaged for so long, like the warm feeling of the sun on your face after you have swum, like the sweet release of a long-time virgin. She was just… the best kind of relief he had ever felt even if she was difficult and annoying sometimes.  
  
_Hermione Granger, your presence will be missed._  
  
Draco realized he liked the sun’s rays better than the cold walls of any enclosed place. Like Granger, the sun was refreshing and deadly at the same time. Every time he shivered inside a cell or a room, he unknowingly longed for heat and warmth. And like a long winter night, Draco somehow felt cold and distant without Granger with him.  
  
She was his sun.  
  
And he suddenly loved the sun. He loved the pain that came with admiring its beauty. He loved the sweaty sheen that it left on his body. He loved the way it lit up the whole world. He loved its bright and yellow colour. He loved the sun.  
  
Why was he suddenly acting like the poet his mother desperately wanted him to be?  
  
He shook his head, trying his best to get Granger and the sun out of his brain. Thankfully, his Healer approached him and distracted him from Granger for a very brief moment.  
  
“My lady,” he mocked, slightly curtsying to further make fun of her.  
  
She ignored him, using her wand to wrap something warm around his stump before leaving him alone once again.  
  
“Hey,” he called out to her before she completely walked away.  
  
She briskly turned around and faced him. “What?”  
  
“Has anyone sent a letter from Hogwarts for Hermione Granger?”  
  
She snorted. “I’m a Healer, not a bloody owl.”  
  
“You think you can write a letter for me?” he attempted.  
  
“I’m not Iris, you’re not Hera, and I am not your messenger,” she refused, crossing her arms.  
  
“You do realize that Hermione Granger fought with Harry Potter in the Battle of—“  
  
“Harry Potter’s dead,” she stated in a monotone, “and before long, Hermione Granger will be, too. Maybe she’ll be the boys’ entertainment tonight, who knows?”  
  
Draco did not like the way her lips turned upwards when she said entertainment. He did not trust her or her words, but somehow he knew there was some semblance of truth in what she was saying.  
  
“Most of the Neutrals are people like me,” she told him, menacingly smiling. “We hate people like you. We hate war. We hate that you’ve prolonged this stupid war that was only supposed to last for a year. No one gives a shit about who Hermione Granger fought with during the Battle of Hogwarts. They only care about the fact that she fought. She’s a monster just like the rest of you.”  
  
Draco felt an urge to hit this woman with his right hand. He would’ve done so if he _had_ his right hand. He would have smacked this bitch and hoped that her future children would feel it.  
  
Instead, he became a man and forced himself to calm down.  
  
“You know nothing,” he scathingly told her before he walked away from her and closer to the other man that was nearby.  
  
The man was a part of the Ministry. He wore its badge proudly. Even as he wore a fur coat, he made sure to let everyone know that he was under Minister King’s orders and nobody else. That was about to change now.  
  
“We have to go back to the Ministry,” Draco sternly demanded.  
  
The 50-something man turned to him and pursed his dry lips.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I had foolishly forgotten to bring something,” he vaguely answered.  
  
The man stared at him for the smallest of moments before looking at the distance.  
  
“No,” the man said. “Minister King gave me specific orders.”  
  
Draco nodded as if he was just learning of that face now.  
  
“And what are those orders?”  
  
“To deliver you to your parents at Hogwarts,” the man responded.  
  
Draco studied him a bit further, trying to figure out what this man truly wanted.  
  
“You think you’ll be rewarded?” he inquired.  
  
“I serve the Ministry and if your father—“  
  
Draco smirked and interrupted the man mid-speech. “You know, that when my father sees me, he’ll, of course, first notice that my right hand is suddenly gone. My mother would be horrified and she’ll ask me ‘what happened?’ You know what I’m going to tell them? I’m going to tell them that this man—“ he poked the man’s badge, “—chopped it off.”  
  
The man’s eyes widened. “I had nothing to do with—“  
  
“Or… I could tell them that this noble man from the Ministry saved my life,” Draco casually amended.  
  
The man was scowling, but he still did not dare to look him in the eye.  
  
“Let’s go back to the Ministry.”

**. . .  
  
**

Granger was bloodied and dirty. Her once pretty blue robes were now torn and tattered. In her right hand, she held a toy wand – one that was meant for magical toddlers to play with. No real spell escaped the wooden toy, of course. Only blindingly bright light of different colours came out of the tip.  
  
When they had arrived at the entrance of the Ministry, Draco had first noticed that it had been quiet all around. Only a couple of guards remained at the main gates. He had asked almost everybody he had seen if they knew where Hermione Granger was. A mother and her child had come out of the restroom and had told him that most of the people were in the ‘Death Room.’  
  
Draco Malfoy had no idea what the Death Room was and he remembered his heart palpitating as soon as he had heard the name. The Ministry man he had convinced earlier had taken him to the room and he had been open-mouthed in shock as he had seen that the Death Room was an ancient Roman-style theatre. He had known that without magic, the whole structure wouldn’t be able to fit in the Ministry. The theatre, or death pit (as some he heard had called it), was most probably bigger than the Lestrange Manor.  
  
He had soon let himself to be pushed around until he was at the front and lowermost part of the stands. What he had seen disgusted him.  
  
An angry Hippogriff with clipped wings stood before a visibly exhausted Hermione Granger. From where he was stood, it looked like the right side of Granger’s neck was scraped by the Hippogriff’s evil claws. Draco caught a glance of his now hand-less arm and cringed as he recalled the pain of when another Hippogriff tear it apart.  
  
He absolutely fucking loathed magical creatures. Honestly, a dog and a cat could be cute, but pixies and Dementors were straight-up from the 9th circle of the Inferno. Not only were they evil and annoying, magical creatures were fucking ugly. He remembered when he had been a child, his parents told him that he had vomited the first time he had ever seen a goblin. Draco shivered, how he hated those slimy creatures.  
  
He was certain that Granger adored these ugly creatures. He knew that she started a charity or something similar for house-elves back in their Hogwarts days. He knew that she hated it when he had claimed that Hagrid’s brute almost killed him. Admittedly, he had been overreacting but he knew that it had to be done to rid the world of those creatures.  
  
He also knew that Granger must have tried to talk it out with the insulted Hippogriff before she ultimately fought. She must have done everything gentle to calm the beast down.  
  
Draco wondered how she had been fighting against the Hippogriff in the first place when she only had a toy wand. He sneered as the audience shouted in an uproar when the Hippogriff pushed Granger to her knees. If she had a real wand, Draco knew that this fight would’ve been over before it began—and the audience would probably be gone as well.  
  
_They should’ve given her a real weapon. That would’ve been more interesting to watch.  
  
_ He heard the crowd singing (off-tune, he might add) an old pure-blood nursery rhyme about a Muggle-born and her brutal death. He was familiar with the song; he knew the lyrics by heart.  
  
_She’s dirty, ugly, filthy little Mudblood.  
  
_ Granger struggled to get back up to her feet, her arms most probably weakening and giving up on her.  
  
_She’s poor and meek, a filthy little Mudblood.  
  
_ The ugly Hippogriff advanced in on Granger’s pitiful form. It let out a loud screech and before he knew it, Draco was in the pit with the two of them.  
  
_A princess, she was not. A Sickle, she was worth.  
  
_ Most of the crowd shushed by now, but he still heard some of the ones sitting on the front row singing their hearts out. The Hippogriff had noticed him.  
  
_Her hair was stringy. Her eyes, muddy. Her skin, dark and ugly.  
  
_ His heart was pulsing through his throat. He could hear its beating louder than the crowd’s singing. Why had he done this?  
_  
Just like her father, all of luck left her. Poor little Mudblood.  
  
_ He sprinted his way to Granger’s convulsing form in front of the Hippogriff. The creature swung its limb across them and he instinctively dropped to his stomach, pushing Granger with him.  
  
_No one will love her, but she will be remembered. Poor little Mudblood.  
  
_ As soon as he was able, he stood back to his feet and grabbed Granger’s arm with his left hand. The audience’s singing was starting to make his ears hurt.  
  
_Little Mudblood won’t get up, wake up, rise up.  
  
_ He pulled her along with his running. When they reached the edge of the pit, he saw his Ministry guard at the top. He pushed Granger up first as he knew her life was more worth-saving than his.  
  
_Farewell, filthy little Mudblood.  
  
_ She put her arm out as soon as she was safely lying on the top. Draco jumped his highest jump and let himself be carried up by Hermione Granger.  
  
_May the wet soil be your brand new skin.  
  
_ They sat in undignified positions for a long time after they were both saved. He heard the Hippogriff screech again and throw a beastly tantrum until it was silenced by a wand. He stared at Granger’s pale and dirty face. She had never looked more beautiful in his eyes. Cold air was puffing out of her panting lips. Her eyes were wide and wild, the loveliest pair he had ever seen. Her messy hair framed her small and round face. Streams of so many tears ran down her soiled cheeks. She was crying too hard.  
  
Draco did not care. The fact that Hermione Granger was still alive and breathing was the only thing he gave a fuck about. He couldn’t spend a second without her near him, not yet at least. And so, he closed the small space between them, grabbed her wet left cheek, and pressed his dried lips into her bloodied ones.  
  
When they ran out of air, Granger wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, still weeping and hyperventilating. They did not speak one word. They did not acknowledge the hundreds of people looking upon them. They did not talk. They did not respond to his Healer’s annoyed grunts. They just sat, backs slouching, in the sweetest embrace.  
  
For a few minutes, all that mattered to him was Granger’s touch. And as she touched him, Draco finally understood the many historical men that fought wars for one woman. He felt like he could fight another war himself. His heart was racing and he was ready to resurrect the Dark Lord just to put him back to hell. He wanted to attack a burning city while he screamed Granger’s name at the top of his lungs. He would kill a thousand men if it meant Granger would hold him forever. At that very moment, Draco realized that he was wrong and that Granger’s touch would matter to him for as long as he was living.  
  
He would never leave her again.

**. . .**

  
This was the first time Draco had ever been glad to be back at Hogwarts. When the castle had finally made its way to his sight, he had worn his biggest grin until Granger had smacked him across the head for it. They hadn’t talked much after they had gotten out of the Ministry. They hadn’t had a serious conversation at least. Whenever they had spoken, it was full of humour, sarcasm, and banter. Draco did not personally mind it; he was just glad that his sun was back with him, ready for another beautiful rising and setting.  
  
“I wonder if my parents would be happy to see me,” he wondered out loud.  
  
Granger scoffed beside him. “They’re your parents.”  
  
“And my parents aren’t exactly the type to be happy,” he retaliated.  
  
“You’ve been gone for how long now?”  
  
Draco shrugged. “Who knows?”  
  
“I’m sure they miss you,” Granger said, a soft tone layering her voice.  
  
“Let’s hope you’re right,” he muttered, apprehension filling him up as they entered the Great Hall.  
  
“I’m always right,” she arrogantly declared.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Sure.”  
  
Their Alma mater looked the same. Even though he was certain that more than a half of it had been destroyed in the Battle of Hogwarts, it was apparent that magic did wonders and miracles. Staring at his missing right hand, he wondered if he would be able to wield a wand again.  
  
“Hermione!” a familiar shrilly voice shouted from across the room. It was Mrs Weasley, and she was fast-approaching them.  
  
“Ginny’s gone,” she exclaimed as soon as she got in front of them. “You must take the Malfoy boy away from here before his parents find him.”  
  
“Mrs Weasley—“ Granger tried to speak but was cut off by another calling of a name. This time, it was his own name.  
  
“Draco,” his mother’s voice gasped.  
  
He turned to where her voice came from. His mother looked elegant and poised as usual. She did not look like she had lost a son, her only son for a few months at all. In fact, she looked even healthier than the last time he had seen her.  
  
His father was right behind her, also looking the best he ever had since Draco’s Fifth Year. His maker was of a healthier colour of skin. He no longer looked like a walking corpse, but instead a groomed formal man.  
  
His father’s eyes lingered on his stump and Draco felt the disappointment that was about to drown him.  
  
“What happened to your hand?” his father asked. His mum gasped again when she saw what he was talking about.  
  
“It got lost on the way here,” he attempted to jest.  
  
His father did not look impressed and neither did his mother. They looked down upon him with disappointment once again.  
  
“Might we have a proper meal first before I talk of violence at least?” he drawled. “Granger and I are starving.”  
  
His father visibly stiffened when Draco mentioned her. He knew he would not make a scene, though.  
  
Mrs Weasley still had a sour expression whenever she glanced at him. It was alright; he hated her, too.  
  
“Your mother lost my daughter, Malfoy,” she spat.  
  
He heard Granger sigh beside him and he beat her into speaking first.  
  
“We’ll get to that,” he said, already dragging Granger to one of the tables.

**. . .  
  
**

It had been two days since Draco arrived at Hogwarts. Those two days had been paradise for him. He no longer worried about his life or his parents’ lives. There were no more battles to anticipate. There were no more screams of pain that seemed to last forever. Nothing lasted forever and he was bloody glad for it.  
  
_Fuck the war_. He wanted to try living a normal life now. He wanted to worry about paying his rental bills and not if he was going to live to see tomorrow. In fact, he wanted to start all over from the beginning, from the day he was born to his Sorting Ceremony to his graduation. He wondered what his life would be like if Harry Potter never existed.  
  
_No._ He did not want to spend his remaining life thinking about the people he hated. Instead, he should dedicate every minute to the people that loved him. They were the only ones who deserved his attention. He would be normal. He would be a simple wizard trying to survive in the harsh economy of his world.  
  
But, in all honesty, Draco did not wish to be simple. He wanted to be the most complicated Arithmancy equation. He wanted to be someone complex and hard-to-understand. He wanted to be extraordinary and special. He wanted to be remembered as the only person who did something no one else could.  
  
How could he do that with one hand?  
  
His parents had told him that he should begin training his left hand immediately and that they would buy him a wand as soon as possible.  
  
Upon arriving at the castle, Draco soon realized that his former school had turned into another one of those refugee camps. There were no Gryffindors, Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws now. Houses were removed because it was believed that they only encouraged rivalry and contempt between the students. There were still hundreds of children that were studying here and they were all taught the best type of morals. Draco felt like they were finally doing better and that the next generation would be more peaceful than his.  
  
He suddenly thought of the next generation of Malfoy. He shivered just thinking about having a child of his own. It seemed like the ancient lineage of the House of Malfoy would end with him. And that thought somewhat scared him. His ancestors worked against so many kings and heroes just to have one useless boy fuck it all up. Maybe he _would_ have kids just for the bloodline and to prolong his legacy.  
  
Draco chuckled to himself. What _was_ his legacy? What would he be known for after a thousand years? It did not matter what they would think of him by then; he would not care regardless.  
  
“What are you laughing about?” His mother’s icy tone reached his ears.  
  
“Nothing,” he responded, still looking out of the exact place where he committed his first murder.  
  
The Astronomy Tower had always been one of his favourite places in Hogwarts, second only to the Great Lake. When he was in First to Second Year, he’d always envied the other Houses for having their tall towers and he would climb up here to see what the other Houses would in any normal day.  
  
“You should really cover up that ugly stump,” his mum distastefully told him. “It ruins your image.”  
  
Draco snorted, turning his head to look at her. “I don’t care about my image.”  
  
“I’ll have someone make a golden hand for you,” his mother proceeded, glaring at his stump. “You can wear it like a glove.”  
  
“That would make me look even more like a fool,” he retorted.  
  
“It would be better than that grotesque hand-less wrist.” His mother’s face slowly contorted into a repulsed expression. Admittedly, her words stung a bit, but he knew what she said were true.  
  
“I’m sorry I’m too disgusting for you now,” he mock-apologized.  
  
“You’re not,” she insisted.  
  
Draco sighed, pushing himself off the ledge. He walked away, fully intending to leave the place.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“I need to talk to Granger,” he shortly answered.  
  
“No, you don’t,” his mother said. “You need to talk to your father.”  
  
He shook his head and left her. On the way down, Draco bumped into, of course, his father. One could never truly escape a serious conversation with Lucius Malfoy, and so, he slowed his steps to a pace that matched his father’s.  
  
“I have a gift for you,” his father told him as they walked back up the Astronomy Tower. Only then did Draco realize that his father was carrying a wand case. He had already bought him a wand. Draco felt the familiar waves of disappointment crash through him. Even his old Hawthorn wand hadn’t chosen him, though it matched him perfectly. He wondered when his parents would halt their control over him.  
  
His mother was still there, silently pondering and drinking another old French bottle of wine. She was the best-looking drunk he had ever seen in his life.  
  
“Oh,” she uttered in slight shock.  
  
His father stood in the space at his mother’s left. That was how they usually stood beside each other, with his father on the left and his mother on the right. It must be a habit they had subconsciously gotten used to over the many years of being married.  
  
“Open it,” his father commanded, handing over the box.  
  
Draco took a step back.  
  
“I can’t do that with one hand, sir,” he told him with a pained smile.  
  
Displeasure flashed in his father’s grey eyes. Draco noticed him squaring his jaw as he opened the box himself, revealing a brand new wand.  
  
“Acacia,” his father began, “dragon heartstring, 9 and a half inches. I thought that it would suit you incredibly.”  
  
He studied the piece of wood that he would use to wield magic from now on. It looked simple enough; nothing beat his old Hawthorn wand in ugliness. It was elegant and simple at the same time, perfect for an assassin.  
  
The first time he had ever set his eyes on his Hawthorn wand, he had felt the sizzling magic instantly. It was truly meant for him. This time, Draco did not feel any crackling or fizzing.  
  
He hesitantly grabbed the wood.  
  
“Acacia makes tricky wands,” Draco stated.  
  
His father hummed in response. “How is it?”  
  
It was… alright, very anticlimactic and nothing like his first one. His left hand certainly surged a tad when he had first touched it, but that was it. His grip on the wand was too loose; it felt like it was about to fall from his fingers any second now. He suddenly felt an ache in the place where his right hand should be. How?  
  
“Try a spell, Draco,” his mother urged.  
  
Draco inhaled a deep breath and exhaled out, “ _Wingardium Leviosa._ ”  
  
He had pointed his wand to a book that was sitting nearby. His spell worked for a short second before gravity worked against him and the book fell.  
  
He turned back to his parents but did not dare to look at them, choosing instead to glare at his new wand. That was what always happened whenever he tried to use his left hand. It would work for the quickest blink before being useless again.  
  
“Maybe you should try training with the Granger girl,” his father snidely suggested. That was the same thing he would say every time Draco failed, too—or even every time he would come home with lower marks than Granger in school. And before, he would abhor Granger even more, but now, maybe he _would_ train with her. Maybe she could teach him how to be the best or how to not be a disappointment in his parents’ eyes.  
  
“You won’t be a Squib, Draco,” his father continued. “You won’t stand there in front of the heirs of two ancient pure-blooded families and fail to levitate one book.”  
  
Whenever Lucius Malfoy got angry, he never raised his voice. He would say the most hurtful things in the lowest of tones, never meaning to be heard outside of the walls they stood in. As his father reprimanded him, his mother would just stand straight and stare at him pitifully, like what she was doing now. And normally, Draco would say a banal response, but today, he remained silent.  
  
His grip on his new wand tightened the longer they stood before him.  
  
“This is why we should have made another son,” his father spat and Draco flinched.  
  
When they finally left him, the wand fell to the floor. He was too much of a coward to fight against them. He was too afraid that he would lose them if he spoke one harsh syllable.  
  
_Fucking craven.  
  
_

**. . .  
  
**

Granger was sitting among the grass when he arrived at the Great Lake to calm down. As soon as he saw her there, sitting relaxed, hair tied into a bun, and eyes closed, he was instantly _cool_.  
  
Cool because instead of the burning fury he had been feeling, a refreshing calmness washed over him. Cool because the longer he stared at her, he realized that she was not only his sun but also his moon. He loved admiring the moonlight. He loved that he could see different parts of the moon at a time. He loved its diverse shapes. He loved that its light was the one who guided the lost back to where they belonged.  
  
She was his sun _and_ moon. There were days when he was certain she would burn his skin off, but there were also days when he could stare at her safely for a long time. She was the danger and the safe place. She lit up the night sky. She could turn him blind. She was hot and cold.  
  
She was something much bigger and better than he could ever hope to be. He was just a man, a silly, small man, gazing upon the greatness that was her. She was the goddess; he was her worshipper. He was made by her to kneel on the dirty soil, to chant her sweet name every night, and to be inferior to her. He was but a man, easily controlled and manipulated by her beauty. Draco suddenly felt ashamed of all the times he had thought of himself as superior to her kind. He had been obviously wrong. He was meant to serve her. He also felt ashamed of the times he stated god wasn’t real. He had also been stupidly wrong. God was real and whoever they were, they lived in Hermione Granger.  
  
This was the first time he had been so sure about worshipping something greater than him.  
  
He approached her, embarrassingly blocking the sunlight for her.  
  
“Hermione,” he called out. She did not acknowledge his presence at all and completely ignored him.  
  
Draco took that as a sign that he should leave and he did because he had gotten what he came there for. Peace. He felt peaceful just by looking at Hermione Granger.

**. . .  
  
**

  
Somehow, he ended up with no one but Hermione Granger again that night. She had met up with him to tell him that she was about to leave tomorrow. He had gotten angry and he had almost pushed her into the wall, but he had kept his anger in check when Granger had slapped him.  
  
Now, they were drunk out of their minds. He stole bottles of Firewhiskey from where his parents were staying and they had gotten through three of them now.  
  
“Malfoy,” Granger’s soft and slurry voice called out.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You look younger with your hair cut like that,” she prissily beamed at him. He smiled back without thinking. His mother had been the one who suggested that he cut his awfully long hair. She had told him that he reminded her of the late Severus Snape. After that bizarre comment, Draco had found himself a hairdresser immediately. He was glad that she thought he looked better with his shorter hair. He was glad that she even thought of him in the first place.  
  
“Thank you,” he said and it was the most truthful thing he’d ever told anybody in his whole life. Granger was becoming an influence.  
  
She looked him dead in the eye and started to weep quietly. “I’m sorry that I have to leave tomorrow.”  
  
Granger was one funny drunk. He was reminded of their Hogwarts days; he was so sure that if she had gotten drunk back then, she would act like she was acting now.  
  
He glared at the tears falling from her eyes. Why did she have to leave alone, anyway? He should come with her. He should be wherever she was.  
  
He couldn’t voice his thoughts though. Draco was a silent drunk. He rarely ever spoke whenever he was pissed. He just stared and drank more. That was all.  
  
“I’m going to miss you,” Granger told him, still crying for some reason. “Even though you called me a Mudblood, I’ll still miss you like crazy.”  
  
He paid little attention to what she was saying. All he cared about was the fact that she was crying. He did not like it when women cried. They were strong people and tears never suited them. Hermione was the strongest person he had ever met. She did not need to cry.  
  
He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her smaller figure. He stroked her hair and kissed her softly to calm her down.  
  
His lips looked better on her face than tears ever did.  
  
She kissed him back, helplessly under the same spell that he was every time he touched her. Her hands dropped the bottle she was previously holding and her alcohol-spilt fingers grasped his hair desperately. Her lips were wet by both the Firewhiskey and her tears. She wasn’t the best thing he had ever tasted, but he still loved it whenever he would run his tongue along her lips.  
  
They were thin, her lips. They would slightly open every time she let out a whimper. She was still crying.  
  
He slipped his tongue inside her mouth. He hissed when she accidentally bit it, but the way she whispered her apology healed him instantly. She experimentally touched her tongue with his and he let out a soft chuckle.  
  
Their messy snogging led to a few cuts on their lips and tongues; Draco did not mind it. In fact, he even enjoyed it. He wanted her to scar him just so her mark could live on his skin forever.  
  
Eventually, both of their robes were removed and he admired the beauty of her almost-nude body for a while.  
  
She was thin, though not as skinny as he was. She still looked fit. Her body belonged to that of a warrior. With her clothes stripped, his mind finally recognized her as a soldier. He finally realized that she was much stronger than he was.  
  
She had many scars—ugly, ripped scars. Those did not matter to him. What mattered to him was the courage she had in able to be vulnerable in front of him like this. She was so much better than him so many ways. He loved it.  
  
His left hand hastily pulled her bra down. Her breasts were exquisite. Though he was only allowed to entertain one of them, Draco enjoyed every second of the heavy breast weighing on his left palm. He nipped on the present collarbone that he saw. She loved it, letting out a wonderful sound of pleasure every time he did something she liked.  
  
He used her own confidence when she stripped him naked. She was an inspiration to him. He had many disgusting scars himself, including the worst of them all branded on his left forearm by the evilest of them all. She did not gasp in shock when she saw it. She did not admire it or call it pretty. It was not pretty. It was one of the worst things that marred his skin. She just gripped his left forearm tightly and looked him in the eye. That was it. That was enough.  
  
He noticed that tears were still continuously falling from her alluring brown eyes. He did not want her to cry any longer, but he could do nothing about it. He only wiped them away and shushed her, holding her in his arms once again. She pushed him away and told him that she wanted him at this moment, that he was all that she ever wanted.  
  
When he entered her, she sobbed even louder. He instantly stopped, not wanting to actually hurt her. She told him to keep going. He lived to serve her and so, he catered to each and every one of her demands.  
  
He began moving his hips slowly. He wanted to savour every moment inside of her. It was not every day an ordinary man could be ridden by his goddess, after all. And she deserved to be savoured. She deserved to be treated like the heavenly presence she was. Every moan she released, every groan she emitted, and every phrase she whispered, Draco kept in his mind. He would remember this moment forever.  
  
Their climax came in the sweetest of bliss. It was truly the most romantic experience he’d ever gone through. He hoped it was the same for her. He hoped she was also feeling her best. He wanted her to love every moment of what had happened. He wanted her to be happy.

**  
. . .  
  
**

“What are you doing here?” Granger questioned as soon as she saw him.  
  
Draco shrugged. “I wanted to see you before you go.”  
  
She stared at him like he was strange for saying that before sighing.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
He cleared his throat. “Where are you going first to look for her?”  
  
“Hogsmeade,” she responded.  
  
Draco nodded silently. For once, he could not retort or say something witty. For once, Granger spoke first.  
  
“Be safe for me,” she whispered, staring intently at him.  
  
He just nodded again.  
  
“Keep the children safe, too,” she added, a forced smile making its way to her lips.  
  
“I swear,” he softly promised.  
  
This time, she was the one who nodded as a response.  
  
“You should go.” Draco sighed.  
  
“I should,” she muttered before turning around. After taking a couple of steps, she faced him again.  
  
She smiled sincerely. "Goodbye, Draco."  
  
He gave a smile back and waved his stump at her. He heard her laugh. Then, she ran off, leaving him alone.  
  
Who was he kidding? He couldn’t just let her leave him like that. He deserved the best kind of farewell and that was not it. And he did not want her goodbye, anyway. He wanted her kisses and hellos. Her sunrays and moonlight.   
  
He stood there like an idiot for a few seconds before he chased after her.   
  
_Fuck it._ _  
  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the super rushed ending to A Fine Adventure! I was supposed to end it with "it seems like their fine adventure wasn't done yet" type of sentence, but I decided that "fuck it" was much better lol. Thank you, thank you, thank you to beautifuldreamer_x! You are amazing, hunty!


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